


The Lost and Forgotten

by Litcraz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Amnesia, Angst, Biological Webbing, Depression, Enhanced Powers, Enhanced Spider-Powers, Gen, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Non-endgame compliant, Peter Parker & Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers - Freeform, Peter Parker & Tony Stark - Freeform, Peter has something, Peter is important, Peter is no longer Spider-Man, Quiet Peter, Suicidal Thoughts, Watchers, injured peter, issues of self-worth, something important, very important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-09-06 01:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 160,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Litcraz/pseuds/Litcraz
Summary: In exchange for the lives of his friends, family, and millions of people, Peter must give up memories - their memories of him.He is left alone in a world where no one knows he exists; where none of his friends, family, or the Avengers can remember who he is.After finally moving on with his life, a new threat arises - bringing Peter back directly into the Avengers' path. He is suddenly forced to meet a challenge that he doesn't want to face, and in doing so learns exactly what it was that made him a target in the first place. He tries to run, but he can't escape.And no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to forget his past.





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping my toes into the Spider-Man/Marvel fandom. Hope you enjoy!

The streets were busy today. Well, they were busy every day, but today seemed far more so for some reason. Peter suspected that it had something to do with one of the international film festivals that took place each year, everyone coming from all over and everywhere to see the rich and the famous. They would be scouting the streets of Times Square and Broadway, camping out on the corners of Fifth and Main, and chasing after anyone who happened to look like a star-studded actor or actress – not a thought on their mind for shame or decency.

Which was why he was staying as far away from the streets as possible. He didn’t care one bit to be caught in all that madness, thank you very much.

Peter took a bite from his sandwich as his legs hung over the roof’s edge, watching lazily as pedestrians walked back and forth along the streets and as cars drove down the road, either turning at the lights or carrying on, until they were eventually engulfed by the rest of the city.

Turning his gaze, he looked out at the expanse of the harbour, its ports and piers stretching far into the sea. He rested his back against a small smokestack, listening to the sounds of the seagulls and noise as he watched ships and boats of all shapes and sizes, sail in and out of the harbour. The smell of salt was sharp on his nose, so much so that he could almost taste it.

He came to the pier every Tuesday; it was a small dose of routine in otherwise routine-less weeks. For him, every day held all sorts of possibilities – he could go anywhere he wanted, and do anything he pleased. No one told him what to do or where to go; he was bound by no job and no authority of education. He was the emperor of his empire, the captain of his ship. He did anything that he wanted to do.

Well, anything that didn’t require money, at least.

The wind picked up, ruffling Peter’s hair; he looked down at the docks, watching as a couple of men worked to scrub the deck of a small tanker ship. Taking another bite of his sandwich, Peter listened in as the two spoke, their accents thick and strong.

“ _D’you know, I reck’n there ‘asn’t been a fight’n in New York for over a year, now. None of ‘em baddies or super-creatures, or wha’ever you call ‘em.”_

“ _Aye, been really quiet, I’d say. Been real nice, actually; almost like it was b’fore all ‘em super-people and wha’ not started poppin’ up.”_

“ _Yeah, f’r once we don’ hafta be cleanin’ up after the mess them makes, whe’ever we come inta port.”_

“ _An’ no one’s gone an’ b’en killed now, neither. At least not aside from th’usual; guns and stabbins and whatnot.”_

“ _Aye, real sad when it’s a good thing thems are th’ only reasons people are dyin’.”_

“ _What’s that Tony Stark doin’ nowadays anyway? Wasn’t he like, all em’s leader or sumthing’? What’s he doin’ now there’s barely any baddies to go after?”_

“ _Well ‘e is in charge of his daddy’s company, now i’nt he? I s’pose ‘e’s actually makin’ it profitable. Hafta keep the money comin’ if ‘e wants’ta be fightin’ baddies. ‘Sides, it’s not like there aint no baddies no more – they just don’t come much ‘round ‘ere.”_

“ _Yeah, well I think –.”_

A loud bang was heard as someone dropped a tub of fish on the ship’s deck, and with disgruntled swears the two men dropped their brooms and went off to clean it up.

Peter turned, stretching his limbs as he stepped down from his spot on the edge of the roof, secretly glad that the men had been interrupted. He wasn’t enjoying the topic of conversation much, anyway.

By now it was late in the afternoon, and the wind had picked up into a steady gust. Clouds were rolling in from the east and Peter knew that they were going to be in for some rain; which meant it was time to leave. He had been caught in enough rainstorms recently, he’d rather try and see if he could make it home this time before he got soaked to the skin.

Walking to the most secluded corner of the roof, Peter looked round for any sign that someone was watching. Finding himself at the moment alone, he lifted the hood of his sweater over his head, threw his leg over the side, and quickly began climbing down the brick wall.

Once down, Peter kept close to the edge of the sidewalk, his hood pulled tightly around his head and hunched shoulders, avoiding the other pedestrians as they walked by. Everyone seemed to sense the approaching storm, and were rushing as frantically as they could to reach their destinations. Thankfully for Peter, that meant that no one was paying him much attention.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and drops of rain began to fall. Stopping at a corner, Peter waited for the walking signal to turn on.

Then, suddenly, there was a shout.

Peter looked up, his eyes catching sight of two men in masks running out of and away from a small store, their arms filled with bags of cash. One of the store’s staff was standing with his foot out the door and yelling after them, blood running down the front of his white apron, pleading for help from anyone nearby.

“ _Stop them! Please, somebody stop them! Somebody, please….”_

After a moment the man slumped to the ground, his hand pressed against his chest as he panted for breath.

Peter stayed where he was for a brief moment, watching. The white signal turned on. He turned his head. Without a word he stepped forward and continued walking down the street, the cries for help disappearing into the air behind him.

* * *

A short while later Peter was finally nearing home.

The storm had settled almost fully over the city and rain was falling steadily to the ground, rivers beginning to run through the streets to the nearest drains they could find. Only a few other people remained, their faces hidden by umbrellas or papers that they held above their heads, in a futile effort to keep themselves dry.

By now it was half past nine and he hoped that by the time he entered the alley near his house, the local restaurant’s kitchen staff would nearly be done cleaning up for the night; he was getting rather hungry.

Just as he was about to turn into the alleyway, Peter noticed a small trash bin chained to the side of the brick building, its lid unusually unhinged, the corners of a newspaper sticking out from underneath.

Peter stopped, looking inside the window of the shop quickly for any signs of life that might yell at him for rummaging through their bin. Finding the inside completely dark, Peter quickly lifted the lid and pulled the newspaper out. He quickly shoved the paper underneath his jacket and disappeared into the alley.

A few minutes later he arrived at the side of the building where a door was propped open, lighting up the alley in a bright glow. Peter could see a man moving some bags from inside, and he quickly picked up his speed.

Hearing his footsteps, the man looked up, his eyes cautious for a moment before recognition set in. Peter could hear the breath and deep sigh he let out.

“Peter….” the man said, shaking his head. His voice was wary, but it was the same hesitation that Peter was met with every time he came here.

“Hey,” Peter said quietly, giving the man a small smile. He didn’t want to alert anyone else inside to his presence.

The man shook his head again. “Peter, you know I’m not supposed to be doing this. Don’t you have anywhere else you can go tonight? The Supreme Leader is working tonight, and if she finds me here she’ll not only kick my ass, but she’ll call the cops on you.”

“Which is why you better just give me something quick, so I can get out of your hair,” Peter replied with a grin.

The man sighed again, but this time he took a quick glance behind him before he started opening one of the bags. He pulled out a small Styrofoam container, which – in Peter’s opinion – looked suspiciously as though it had already been pre-packed.

“Here,” he said, handing the box to Peter. Peter took the food and tucked it underneath his sweater beside the newspaper. The man sighed again. “You’re lucky you’re a kid, else I wouldn’t put my butt on the line for you.”

“Yes you would Julian,” Peter said, unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. “You’re a good guy. I know you’ve helped others, too. People talk.”

Julian looked as though he were trying to appear upset, but was failing miserably. “Yeah, well,” he said after a moment, “just make sure you don’t get on the wrong side of the tracks. You start getting into drugs and gangs, and you’re out of here. I’m not letting that kind of stuff come near my restaurant.”

There was a shout inside for everyone to finish cleaning up, and Peter knew it was time to leave.

Putting the container underneath his jacket, Peter tugged his hood forward before stepping back. “Thanks Julian,” he said quietly.

At last, Julian smiled. “You’re welcome, kid. Now go find someplace warm to stay, yeah? You’re gonna get sick if you stay out here.”

With a final wave, Peter turned round and disappeared into the dark.

* * *

Ten minutes later Peter had finally made it back home. Thankful that it was not only dark, but also raining, Peter barely had to glance around to make sure no one was watching, before he adjusted the small items he had accrued beneath his jacket. Placing his fingers against the wet brick, Peter quickly began to climb. Reaching the top, he found the small window that sat just beneath the edge of the roof. Pushing it open with a creak, he swiftly crawled inside.

Stepping onto the floor, Peter quietly shut the window behind him and began taking off his jacket, his gaze falling across the room – the one and only place that he could call his own.

It was a long forgotten attic in run-down building that had been deemed unfit for a while now, at least as long as Peter had been here. There was no access to it save for the window, which couldn’t even be seen from the ground, and a small trap door in the corner that looked as though it hadn’t been opened in decades. Peter had found it one day while trying to get away from a pack of street dogs, and he had quickly made it into his hideout – into the one corner of the world that he could call his own. It wasn’t perfect, it was drafty and cold and leaked whenever there was rain, but it was his. And it sure as heck beat sleeping on the street.

A small box lay tucked in the corner of the room and Peter walked over to it. He lifted the lid, rummaging around inside for a few moments before pulling out a small candle and an even smaller box of matches. He rarely used either, considering he only had so much of them, so he only used them for very special occasions. Tonight would be one of them, he decided, since it was so rare that he was able to get any reading material anymore; at least anything _worth_ reading.

Peter struck the match and lit the wick, setting the candle down on an old piece of tinfoil that sat beside his bed. Taking out the now-slightly bent box of food, Peter opened it up – one of his favourites, chicken alfredo pasta – and began to eat, sitting down on his bed.

His bed was nothing more than a ragged old mattress, torn and stained yellow from years of use. But most of the springs were still there and none stabbed him in the back while he slept, so it was good. Not to mention it was comfy and dry, which Peter counted himself very lucky to have.

Leaning his back against the wall, Peter took out the crumpled newspaper and spread it out before him; he smoothed the pages over with his hand, his eyes settling on the newspaper’s headline:

_Cold snap looming on the horizon: Temperatures expected to dip as low as -12 degrees._

Peter frowned, looking back at the few blankets on his mattress. He wondered if there would be enough. Last year’s winter had been fairly mild, so he’d managed to get by. This winter, however….

Turning the page, Peter continued to read through the rest of what the _Daily_ _Bugle_ had to offer, reading every paragraph, every sentence, and every single word that was there. He had never been much of a reader before, at least outside of journals and articles on physics and chemistry and every other bit of science that interested him; but after going for so long without even so much a decent magazine, he found that he was starved for literature, no matter what it was on – even if it was over-sensationlised news.

His eyes suddenly caught a small article in the bottom corner, and as he read the title and article beneath, his brows began to furrow.

 _The Tyden Apartment Complex_ _in Queens on 23 rd and fifth remains under security as residents recover from a recent string of burglaries and assaults. Numerous apartments were broken into Thursday night while residents slept. Many items of value were stolen, including televisions, computers, and jewelry. Most residents remained asleep during the intrusions, but some were awoken. One woman awoke to find one of the thieves in her living room. The man proceeded to attack her, and she was left with numerous injuries before the man left, and other residents arrived and called 911. She is currently recovering at home._

Only one thought went through Peter’s mind, reaching his chest and clenching his stomach like a vice.

_Aunt May._

That was where Aunt May lived. And they said – they said not one, but _many_ people were burglarized. And the woman who was attacked…. They never said her name, so it was possible – it could have been – it might have been Aunt –

Peter put the paper down and took a deep breath.

No. No, it couldn’t have been Aunt May. Dozens of people lived in that complex, there was no way that out of all of them, it had been Aunt May who was attacked. She – she couldn’t have been. She was fine. She was fine, he was sure of it. May always kept her doors locked, she didn’t even keep a spare key outside in case she got locked out. Those doorknobs were top of the line, they were strong – and there were deadbolts too, so unless the men had managed to not only pick the locks, but the deadbolts as well, then… then….

Peter looked back down at the newspaper.

The article had said the woman was attacked, but hadn’t said how she was attacked. Was she simply hit once, as a warning? Was she pushed? Was she beaten? Or was – was it possible she was ra –

Peter looked up at the window, where he was met with darkness on the other side. It was past nine now, he was sure of it. He should be heading to bed soon, should be getting some sleep. It was cold and pouring outside, not to mention storming. He should remain where he was, in the only warm and dry place he had.

Peter bit his lip, unable to stop the one thought from running over and over again through his mind.

What if?

A few minutes later Peter put on his wet jacket, blew out the candle, and slipped outside into the dark.

* * *

By the time he arrived the rain was pelting to the ground like bullets. Peter stood in the alleyway, the barest hint of street light more than enough for his eyes to see by. Looking round, he pulled his jacket closer around his shoulders, searching for any sign of movement or presence. Finding none, Peter took a deep breath and lifted his hands, pressing his fingers against the building’s side.

Bit by bit, Peter slowly but surely made his way up the wall, blanketed in a shield of darkness. After a while he found the edge of an old, broken piece of fire escape near one of the top floor windows. He crouched on its edge, peering through the lit window, eyes searching and searching and searching, and –

_There._

A figure walked past the open door that led into the kitchen, her long brown hair billowing out behind her. She crossed back a moment later, a steaming pot held in her gloved hands. Craning his neck, Peter watched as she set the pot on the table, her mouth running a mile a minute, Peter’s ears picking up every word: _“I worked my butt off, so if that guy doesn’t enjoy this, I swear – I am kicking him_ _straight in_ _his ass.”_

Peter closed his eyes, relief pouring through his body.

_She was okay._

Listening to her voice for any sign of pain or anything off, Peter was so happy that he could find none. She sounded exactly like she always did when she was berating him, or pretending to complain about his apparent lack of care for her cooking; which he never did, of course. She was a great cook when she wanted to be; well, most of the time anyways. There was that one time that she burnt the turkey for Christmas dinner, and they and Uncle Ben were forced to go to Denny’s, and –

Peter suddenly heard footsteps in the hallway and he looked up when they stopped outside the door. A second later a key shuffled in a lock, and the knob turned, and –

“ _May, I’m home!”_

The smile that Peter hadn’t known was on his face began to fade.

Oh. Right.

_Him._

Peter had forgotten about him. Well, he hadn’t forgotten – how could he? Not when Aunt May got a new boyfriend – or _a_ boyfriend, really. She had never dated anyone after Uncle Ben’s death, as far as he knew. So when she did, it wasn’t something you easily forgot. He couldn’t help the annoyance that twisted in his gut, the twist of anger, the twist of… well, he didn’t even really know what. All he knew was that Aunt May had a boyfriend, a serious boyfriend, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Which was why, Peter remembered, he so rarely came back here. And why he never should have come here now.

Peter’s fingers gripped the cold, rusted railing, his heart beating quickly in his chest.

He wanted to leave, knew it was for the best, but still, he found… he found that he… couldn’t. He hadn’t seen Aunt May in so many months, and even if she _was_ with her boyfriend, he couldn’t….

He didn’t want to leave, not yet. Just a little longer. Just a little longer more.

 _Please_.

So Peter stayed. He stayed exactly where he was, crouched in the darkness, staring into the window of his old home, listening as the two talked about their day, laughing with each other and teasing each other and worrying over each other. When Peter saw what was for supper, a flood of longing suddenly rushed through him. She had made spaghetti and meatballs, probably his most favourite food ever. He loved it when she made it for him, and since it was so cheap, they had it often. While May got sick of it sometimes, Peter, thankfully, with his metabolism, never did. He could eat and eat and eat, it was just so delicious, and –

“ _May, this looks delicious!”_ The man smiled at May, before leaning in and giving her a kiss. _“How did you know this was my favourite meal?”_

Something twinged inside Peter and he leaned back, the excitement he had felt before at seeing May beginning to fade.

When supper started to wind down, Peter knew it was time to leave. He turned, forcing his fingers to let go of the railing and tearing his eyes away from the smiling, happy figure of his aunt. He swallowed, ignoring the lump that was suddenly sitting in his throat.

He leaned off the railing and reached for the wall, his fingertips sticking against the rough brick.

He began crawling across the side, the rain hitting and running down his face in rivulets. He was about to head down when he found himself going across a darkened window. On instinct he looked inside, making sure no one was there, when his movements suddenly came to a halt. Surprised recognition washed over him.

It was his room.

Well, his _old_ room. Back when… back when he had been living here. Back before _then_.

Unable to stop his curiosity, Peter stayed for a moment, peering inside at every corner of the room. It was empty now, although his bed still sat where it had always been and his dresser remained tucked against the wall. Everything else, though – all his posters, his clothes, his Lego sets, his experiments – they were all gone. Nothing remained.

His gut ached in pain, and suddenly angry, Peter made to turn to and leave. As he did, however, his fingers brushed against the edge of the window, and he realised with a start that it was partially open.

He stared at it for a long moment, his emotions falling over each other as he fought with himself over what to do. He knew he should leave, that he had already stayed too long, but when the window was open, when the opportunity was right there, the ability to be inside his room – the room he had spent so many years growing up in, had spent the first years of his life as Spider-Man in – he couldn’t… he couldn’t….

He couldn’t pass it up.

 _Just for a little bit,_ Peter thought, quietly pushing the window pane further open with his foot. _I’m just going to stay for a little bit, then I’ll leave. I’ll leave and I’ll never come back –_ _I promise._

Crawling upside down on the ceiling, Peter made his way to the middle of the room, before slowly letting himself down, his feet stepping to the floor without a sound.

Looking round, Peter clenched his teeth, fighting against the overwhelming emotion that was rising in his gut.

God, but he had missed this. He had missed this place _so_ much. Growing up, he had never thought he’d care about this room or apartment as much as he did, but now….

A voice in the back of his mind told him that he should start going, that this was more than dangerous, that he shouldn’t be here, but Peter found himself unable to stop from walking along the edge of the room, looking at every familiar nook and cranny that he could find, every scrape and dent in the wall. Spying a small hole, Peter couldn’t help the slight tug that started to pull at his lips.

He remembered making that hole; he was nine and too hyper for his own good. He had been building one of his Lego sets – one from Indiana Jones, which had occurred before his Star Wars phase – and had started running around, pretending Indiana was being chased by one of the bad guys.

He had been so loud that he knew he must have been driving his aunt and uncle insane, it was a wonder they hadn’t yelled at him to quiet down. The neighbors did, though, as one of them had suddenly banged the side of the wall and gave an angry shout. Startled, Peter had tripped, landing on a piece of Lego which then sent him careening forward and crashing into the wall, where a knee-sized dent was promptly made.

His aunt hadn’t been too happy, staring at him with a deep frown that made Peter sure he was going to get in trouble. But uncle Ben had just laughed, simply remarking that maybe he should be a little quieter next time. He had dried Peter’s frightened tears and with a tussle of his hair, helped him clean everything up.

Peter’s fingers ghosted over the dent, and he fought back the lump that was starting to creep into his throat. Thunder cracked above him and lightning forked through the sky, briefly lighting up the room and casting Peter’s shadow against the wall. Peter blinked. A moment later he let his hand drop and stepped back.

It was time to leave.

Then suddenly, just as he turned round, all of Peter’s senses started going off. In half a second he knew someone was making their way down the hall, heading straight towards the room.

Peter scrambled, nearly falling over his feet as he made a run for the window, but just as he reached the wall the knob was turned and the door was opened, May’s voice filling the room as she flicked the light on. “It’s all right, Andrew, we can do that tomorrow, when –.”

May stopped, her words cutting off as her gaze landed on Peter, whose hand was still gripping the window pane.

The two stared at each other for a brief moment, both their eyes wide, until finally May let out a loud and terrified shriek. Peter winced and clasped his hands over his ears, the high-pitched sound ringing in his ears. Seconds later there were heavy footsteps running towards them and the next thing Peter knew, all three of them were together in the room.

“May! May, what is it?! What’s wrong?! What’s –.” Andrew stopped as his eyes landed on Peter, and the three stood in silence for a long moment, before Andrew’s face grew cold and he pushed May behind him. “Who are you?!” he asked angrily. “How the hell did you get in here?!”

Peter licked his lips, trying to find his voice. “I – I’m –.”

The man – Andrew – stepped forward, his fists raised and looking as though he were about to grab Peter by the collar. Peter quickly raised his hands and shrunk back, shaking his head and talking as fast as he could.

“P-please! Please, I’m not – I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear! I swear, I – I’m going to leave. I promise, I’m going to leave. I’ll leave right now, I’ll –.”

“Yeah, that’s right you’ll leave,” Andrew growled. “And I’ll throw you out the window myself!”

May’s voice was quiet as she raised her hand and placed it on Andrew’s arm. “Andrew… Andrew, honey, look – he… he’s just a kid....”

The wind in Andrew’s chest seemed to deflate a little as he finally slowed down enough to take in Peter’s appearance. “Great,” Andrew said after a moment, his fists dropping to his side. He shook his head. “Boy, they sure start you guys young these days, don’t they? So what’d you take? Her purse? Money? Jewelry?” He scoffed, turning back to May. “Go call the cops. I’ll stay and watch him.”

May bit her lip, her eyes still shining with fear, but she seemed a bit calmer. Looking at Andrew, she shook her head. “No, why don’t – why don’t you go call them? I’ll stay here and watch him.”

Andrew looked at her incredulously. “No way, May – this kid could have a knife, or even a gun! I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

“Andrew,” May said sternly. “This is my apartment. Let me deal with this.” The tone of her voice was one so incredibly familiar, a tone that Peter had heard so many times throughout his life, that he had almost thought May had made it just for him.

Andrew and May stared at each other for a moment, engaging in a silent war of wills. It was clear, however, whose was the strongest, as a few seconds later Andrew gave an angry sigh, and with a final warning glare to Peter, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

Now alone, May turned to Peter. “So,” she said lightly, feigning calm. But Peter knew by the wringing of her clammy hands that she was anything but. “What brings you to my apartment this evening? My twentieth-floor, _high-rise_ apartment?”

Peter said nothing.

“Okay then, we’re being silent today. That’s okay, I get it. A new house to hit, so many rooms to rob, and a thunderstorm outside, too. It’s all probably a little overwhelming.”

Peter remained silent.

May huffed. “Look. I don’t want to make this worse than it is, so if you just give me back my things, I promise I won’t press any charges.”

Peter frowned and looked up, staring at May in confusion.

May was standing with one hand wrapped around her middle and the other planted on her hip, looking at Peter with what seemed to be both fear and annoyance. But really, that didn’t surprise him. Aunt May had lived in New York her whole life – she was a New Yorker through and through, and a teenaged thief wasn’t about to rattle her completely to her bones.

May seemed to be waiting for a response, but when she got none, she carried on, shaking her head. “How the heck did you get in here, anyways? Were you seriously in here since this morning?” She huffed. “I swear, I leave for twenty minutes to go shopping and that’s when they swoop in.” She made a diving motion with her hand. “ _Fwoosh!_ Just like that. _Burglarized_. There are about a hundred other apartments here, but you just _ha_ _d_ to choose mine. Of course. Classic Parker luck.”

The lump that had been stuck in his throat before had, if possible, grown, to the point where Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk even if he wanted to.

Because this was May. This was his Aunt May – in every tiny, minuscule, quirky detail. This was the woman who had spent so many years raising him, who had yelled at him, soothed him, comforted him, gave him advice; who had loved him even when he was so far from being lovable. It had been so long, it had been so _stupid_ long since he’d last seen her, since he’d last spoken to her, since they’d last talked, and he – and he didn’t realise just _how much_ he had missed her. God, he couldn’t – he hadn’t thought that he had missed her _this_ much; he had thought he had moved on, that he had gotten over it all, that he –

May’s annoyed face turned into one of slight shock and bewilderment, and Peter swore he could even see a trace of concern. “Wait, why – are you… are you _crying_?”

Peter blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. Crying? Seriously?

Touching his cheek, Peter cringed as he realised that indeed, he was.

May’s face softened, and she took a step forward. “Look, just – I’m sure if you just talk to the police, they can help you. You can’t be more than – what, fifteen? Sixteen? So – so if you let us, we can help you. Do you have a home? Are you… are you living on the streets?”

“ _May!_ ” Andrew’s voice called from the kitchen. “ _May come here, I can’t get this damn phone to open!_ ”

May sighed, shaking her head. “That man – he is so incredibly tech-illiterate, I swear….”

Turning to leave, she looked back at Peter, her eyes staring in a bemused frown. They continued to stare at each other for a moment, neither saying a word until Andrew’s voice called again from the hall. _“_ _MAY!”_

“All right, all right, I’m coming!” May shouted. She turned back to Peter. “Just stay there,” she said, holding out her hand. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

Peter watched as she left, listening as her footsteps echoed down the hall.

As soon as she was gone, Peter quickly turned and headed to the wall. Within seconds he opened the window and silently stepped out and into the pouring rain. Shutting the pane behind him, Peter quickly crawled around the other side of the building and disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

Peter swore.

He had been stupid – he had been so, so stupid he couldn’t – he couldn’t _believe_ that he – and now May had seen him, she had seen him and they had _spoken_ and – and it wasn’t the same as the Avengers, it wasn’t the same as Mister Stark, as _Tony_ but – but it was still…. What was the point? There wasn’t a point, there was absolutely no point in going – in trying to talk, in trying to make friends, in trying to con- _convince_ –

Peter ran through the streets, splashing through puddles of water as rain continued to pour down from above. He eventually turned into one of the alleys, making his way through twists and turns, moving as fast as he could, trying to run, trying to get away before – before anyone followed, before anyone called, before anyone found –

Turning a corner, Peter jumped onto a cement wall, scurrying up the side as fast as he could. He came to the small window that sat on the angled roof of his attic and all but flew inside, falling onto the floor with a thud.

He stayed still for a long moment, catching his breath and trying to force his racing heart to slow. Eventually he crawled back to the window and closed it, blocking out the rain and muting the thunder that continued to crash through the sky.

Peter shirked off his soaked shirt and jeans, the wet clothes slapping to the ground in a heap. He headed directly over to the corner of the attic where his mattress lay, along with a few dirty blankets that Peter had found over the course of many tours diving through dumpsters.

Laying down, Peter buried himself in the blankets and pressed himself against the corner of the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

He just wanted to forget this day; he just wanted to pretend that this stupid, horrible day had never happened. He had been dumb – and of course he’d been dumb, he was always so, so _incredibly_ dumb – and now he was paying for it. Those wounds had just been starting to scab over, had just started to become manageable, but now he had to go and rip them wide open, and –

Taking a deep breath, Peter tucked his chin into the blankets and sighed, his racing heart finally beginning to slow.

Tomorrow. He’d worry about all of this tomorrow. Because right now, all he needed to do was forget. Just forget, and go to sleep. Just forget any of this had ever happened. Forget Tony Stark and the Avengers, forget Ned, forget… forget Aunt May. Forget.

Just as everyone else had forgotten him.


	2. Choices

It was never a choice. Not really. Being told to decide whether to let all his friends, family, and millions of people live or die was never a decision. There was only ever going to be one answer, no matter the cost; no matter the price he had to pay.

But, Peter thought, he had never imagined the consequences would be quite like this.

It was one thing to no longer be with the Avengers, to no longer be a part of their lives or help them save others, or even – every so often – the world. It was one thing to no longer have Tony – the man whom he had idolized for so long, whose attention he had finally been able to get, whose protege he had finally been able to become. And then to finally become an actual Avenger after the dealings with Thanos; to finally reach his goal, his dream….

But that was then. That was Before. None of that mattered now. Now, all that mattered was finding where his next meal was going to be; all that mattered was making sure he minded his own business and let other people mind theirs. All that mattered was making sure he never got involved with Tony Stark or the Avengers ever again.

In the end, that part was easy. For Tony Stark, the Avengers, and all the millions of other people in New York City, he was just another street bum; just another teen-runaway living on the streets and scrounging for food in dumpsters.

Yes, in the end, keeping a low profile wasn’t the difficult part. No, the difficult part of this ordeal was a whole other pain entirely.

But it was better this way. No matter what, it would always be better this way. Because if it were any other way, they all would be dead. And Peter could never have allowed that to happen.

* * *

It all started nineteen months ago.

Nineteen months ago, Peter had been fighting someone – a humanoid creature who called himself _Seftis_. He had been causing trouble for weeks, destroying ships coming into port and random cars that were driving near the docks. He would appear out of nowhere, hovering in the air like a drone, shooting mists of orange fireballs from his hands. The who and the why had not been important at that point; at that point seven people had already died, and all that mattered was bringing him to a stop.

The twist in the problem came shortly before Seftis appeared for a the fourth time.

A rift had suddenly opened up in the sky above Washington, D.C. So closely had it resembled the one that had appeared a few years ago when Thanos had first attacked, that Tony had no choice but to leave New York and see what it was. The war with Thanos was still so fresh, and no one wanted him to have somehow returned, or for a copycat to be trying to replace his efforts.

So Peter had, for the most part, been left to fend for himself. Bruce remained at the compound not far away, but aside from him, Peter didn’t know where the rest of the Avengers were. He was confident though that if he had to, he would easily be able to call them for help.

In the end, though, he hadn’t been able to call fast enough.

* * *

Forty minutes after Tony had left for Washington, Seftis had arrived.

Peter had swung between the buildings, chasing after him as fast as he could. It went on for almost two hours, so constant to the point where Peter had begun to grow concerned as to whether or not his shooters would have enough webbing to keep going. He had convinced himself there would be enough to at least fend Seftis off for another day.

There wasn’t.

He had just turned into an alleyway, pressing the trigger for another shot, but nothing had come out. Panicking, Peter had pressed it again, but again, nothing happened. He ran alongside the building as he switched hands, trying to shoot from his left. Half a shot streamed out, barely grasping the other building. By that time, however, Peter had met the wall’s end and with no more webbing, he stumbled and crashed into the ground – _h_ _ard_.

Dazed, it had taken him a moment to reorient himself. When his eyes managed to focus, all he could see was Seftis’ smiling face above him.

Peter swung his fist, but missed, and with a swift kick he was sent flying into the side of the concrete wall. He quickly got back up, but before he could so much as run, Seftis’ orange mist had surrounded him and was holding him high above the ground.

Karen told Peter that help was on the way, that she had alerted Tony to his distress along with Bruce and Natasha Romanov, the latter of whom was in another district of New York, the only Avengers close by.

By now, Peter was beginning to lose consciousness. He didn’t lose hope though; he knew that at any time, at any moment, someone would be there, that someone would hear his distress call and come to his aid.

They had and they did; but by then, it had been too late.

Just as white dots had begun to dance around his vision, Peter was suddenly thrown to the ground as Natasha’s bullet tore through Seftis’ temple, flying out the other side. Seftis didn’t even blink.

Still catching his breath, Peter had watched helplessly as the Black Widow and Seftis fought. He had tried to get up, but just as he’d risen back to his feet, Natasha’s gun was ripped from her hands and shoved straight through her chest.

He had gone numb, then, not entirely sure that what he was seeing was real. He had watched as Bruce showed up a few seconds later in one of Tony’s suits and turned into the Hulk.

Peter had tried to help; he climbed up the Hulk’s body to attack Seftis from there, but then Seftis had gotten in a good hit to the Hulk’s head, and then from then on, everything had spiraled into chaos.

Peter had kept getting knocked aside, almost as though he was more of a nuisance than an actual threat. It wasn’t until the Hulk was finally knocked to the ground, an orange spear standing in his chest – where the heck had that come from? – that villain finally turned his attention back to Peter.

Karen spoke words of comfort, as best as an AI could that is, insisting that Tony was going to be there at any moment. But then Seftis had started to advance, stepping over Natasha’s prone body – _God, was_ _s_ _he, was_ _s_ _he actually de_ _a_ – until he stood over him, a smile stretched wide across his face.

He had held out his hand, reaching ever closer until his fingertip touched Peter’s forehead. The next thing Peter knew, everything went black. The city of New York disappeared and all that was left was Peter and this dark, evil _thing_ , this creature, this – this –

Until then, Seftis had never spoken. He had never so much as uttered at word, much less explained what he wanted or why he was doing what he had done.

His voice, when Peter heard it, felt like the most terrified, most haunting of human screams, as though someone were having their heart ripped out of their breathing chest, as though they were being ripped to shreds alive. Peter’s hands had instinctively gone over his ears, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to shut the deafening screams out; he hadn’t realised that his own screams had started to join them, until –

There was another touch to his forehead and suddenly the screaming stopped. Everything was silent, and all that Peter could feel was a fading burn from where his skin had been touched.

Peter unclasped his ears and looked up, meeting Seftis’ eye.

“Hello Peter,” the man-creature said. “Such a pleasure to meet you.”

Peter had struggled at first to speak, his words fumbling off his tongue. Finally he managed to say, “Who are you?! What the hell have you – I’m going to _kill_ –.”

“We can’t talk long, I’m afraid,” Seftis had said, cutting Peter off. “For a decision must be made, and time is of the essence.”

Peter tried to move, tried to take a swing at the man, but he found his body almost immobile, his arms and legs unable to move any more than a few inches at a time. Looking down, he saw thin, misty orange strings tied round his ankles and wrists.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Peter asked, looking back up. His heart was racing, pounding in his chest as he tried to think of a way out, of any way out –

“The choice you have to make is simple,” Seftis said. “Either your friends, the Avengers, and millions across your northern continent die… or they live.”

Annoyance bristled in Peter’s chest, and he tried to keep from shouting. “Oh come on,” he said flippantly. “Shove it with the theatrics and just tell me who you are! What the hell do you want? I’ll let you know, it may have been easy to kidnap me, but as soon as Tony and the other Avengers find I’m missing, they’ll have you laid out in a _second_ –.”

“My, my,” Seftis interrupted, beginning to walk. “You sure have quite the temper, don’t you? I’m sure friends such as Tony Stark would approve of such antics; I’ve no doubt he’s a key exemplar in that department. Others, however, might prefer to call one who behaves in such a fashion a _reckless fool_.”

Seftis walked around him, his dark eyes never leaving Peter’s. “Now I ask you again: which do you choose? Life, or death?”

Peter glared at the man, struggling to move against his bonds. “I’m not making any stupid choice like that!” he growled. “Besides, who do you think you are that you can just kill everyone just like _that_? We’ve already dealt with one crazy psycho who tried that, and in case you haven’t heard, it didn’t end well for him.”

Seftis snapped his fingers and an orange mist crackled to life in front of him, tendrils flickering through it like embers floating in the sky. Within it Peter’s eyes caught movement and he frowned, staring until the images began to make themselves out. In one corner he could make out what appeared to be trees; next to it he saw a strangely familiar figure. As the image became clear, he realised with a start that it was Clint Barton. _Hawkeye_.

He was crouching outside a small house in what appeared to be an acreage, surrounded by fields and trees. A young boy was in front of him, an axe in his small hands and a stump in front of his legs. As Hawkeye’s lips moved behind the boy’s ear and he pointed, it was clear what he was doing – he was teaching his son how to chop wood.

It was such a mundane scene, it was so typical of a parent and child, so typical of a father and son, that Peter was left to wonder why on earth he was watching it at all.

“You see,” Seftis sighed, “life is so incredibly precious. The experience of a father teaching his son, passing on all that he’s learned so that his child will be able to survive in the world when he’s not there… seeing the son look adoringly into his father’s face… it’s all so beautiful. Just as it should be.”

Movement caught the corner of his eye and Peter jerked as he realised that there was someone in the woods, right behind where Hawkeye and his son were standing.

“But alas,” Seftis continued, “not everyone gets what they should have; and far too many sons grow up without their father.”

The shadow in the trees moved, stepping out into the open and picking up an axe that was laying on the ground. It was a dark form, not a single feature able to be made out, save wisps of black that rolled off the edges of its humanoid-like body.

“What – what are you… no.” Peter’s eyes flashed to Seftis, his heart starting to beat heavy in his chest as he realised what was happening. “Stop! Stop him, you can’t – you have to stop –.” The shadow raised the axe behind Hawkeye’s head and Peter instinctively stepped forward, panic racing through his entire body. _“Stop!”_

The mist grew and began to surround him, encompassing him entirely until everything else around him disappeared. Hawkeye and the shadow, however, stayed where they were, until Peter suddenly realised he was standing in the clearing with them.

Peter didn’t care to wonder how he had gotten there, instead shouting with everything that he had: _“_ _Hawkeye, look out_ _!”_

Clint jumped, startled for half a second before his instincts kicked in. He immediately shoved his son behind him and grabbed the axe he had been holding, holding it up in front of him, ready to attack. His eyes landed on Peter and they widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “Peter Parker?” he asked. “Peter, how – what are you doing here?”

The shadow raised the axe, about to strike.

Peter struck his arms forward, trying to shoot his webs, only to find that nothing came out. With nothing else he could do, Peter started running towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs: _“_ _RUN_ _!”_

As he was about to reach them Hawkeye turned, just in time for the axe to come down and strike him right in the middle of his –

Peter skidded to a halt, and everything came to a sudden and horrifying stop.

Hawkeye’s body dropped to the ground – except it _couldn’t_ be, it couldn’t just be his body because there was no way that he – there was no way that he was actually _dead_ , even though – even though –

The shadow continued to hack away at Hawkeye’s body. The ringing that Peter hadn’t realised were in his ears began to fade, only to be replaced with screams. Looking to the right, he realised that Hawkeye’s son was still standing only feet away, watching his father as he was –

Peter could hear the sound of a woman yelling, then screaming, but he wasn’t listening. He started running to the boy, because while the shadow was distracted maybe he would be able to grab the child, and –

Then suddenly, when Peter was only a few feet away from the boy, the shadow turned and before Peter could reach him, the shadow took its clawed hand, and –

No. No, this couldn’t be happening. There was no – there was no way that this was actually happening. This had to be a dream, it couldn’t be real, it had to be a –

The scene in front of him dissolved, and Peter suddenly found himself standing in the middle of city streets. He blinked rapidly, looking this way and that, wondering what the heck had happened.

It took him a moment to figure out where he was, to realise he was no longer in on the acreage with Hawkeye and the shadow and –

The sound of tires screeching followed by a car’s horn suddenly screamed in his ears. Peter started to turn, catching the image of a car coming straight towards him, followed by running footsteps and then someone was grabbing him, and –

“Geez kid, what the hell do you think you’re doing? What’d you do, follow me all the way to Washington?”

Peter blinked, looking up to see Tony in his Iron Man suit looking at him with what appeared to be both angry frustration and relief.

“I mean, how the heck did you follow me, anyway? Did you hitch a ride on my suit? I swear, if you ignored my orders just to get a thrill, when you were supposed to be watching out for that guy back in New York, I swear –.”

Peter’s mouth was dry and he swallowed, trying to form words to speak.

“Mister… Mister Stark… Mister Stark, there was – that guy we were fighting, he – he took me and – and there was this other guy, and he was at Hawkeye’s house and he –.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Tony interrupted, raising his arms. “Slow down kid. Who did what now? And what’s Clint got to do with it?”

Peter was going to be sick.

“H-he killed him,” he finally managed to get out. “There was a creature, and it – it was behind him and… and it killed him. It killed him and his son, too. I tried to stop him, I tried to save them Mister Stark, I swear I did, but he killed them just before I could reach them, and I… I….”

Peter watched as the colour drained from Tony’s face, as he seemed to – for once – believe Peter without question. They stared at each other for only a moment longer, before Tony turned away, talking to Friday so fast that Peter almost couldn’t catch his words. Not that he wanted to. Because right now all he wanted was to find a place to throw up.

Tony walked away, and Peter started to follow.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye at the last second. By then, it was too late.

It was the shadow creature. The same one that had attacked and killed Hawkeye. It was hiding in the alleyway, hidden amongst the shadows. Just as Tony passed it, it jumped out, claws extended and heading straight for Tony’s throat. Peter shouted and started to run as fast as he could towards them.

But everything happened too fast. Tony had barely managed to defend himself before a second creature appeared on Tony’s other side. In less than a second its claws had pierced Tony’s armor and went straight through the other side.

Peter’s whole world came to a halt.

… what? But this – this couldn’t… how could – there was no way that, that….

Just as blind terror and panic began to take hold, everything around him once again dissolved into nothing, and he once more found himself surrounded in darkness.

The orange mist that had been in front of him before suddenly appeared again, like a fire erupting back to life.

Peter’s knees felt weak, and he struggled to keep standing. He wondered where he was, if he was with another one of the Avengers, or….

“I hope that gave you at least a little taste of what will happen, should you choose wrongly.”

Seftis. He was back with Seftis.

Peter fought to take a deep breath, without making it seem painfully obvious.

“So they’re not dead?” he asked, trying to quash the flicker of hope in his chest. “Hawkeye and Tony, the Black Widow and Bruce…?”

Seftis walked behind the mist, watching Peter through the flames. “No, they’re not dead. Not yet. But they will be, should you make the wrong choice. So choose: either your friends and family live, or they die.”

The mist flicked once again, and images of all the Avengers, Peter’s friends, and even Aunt May appeared across it; they were all in their own part of the world, each doing their own thing, each living their own life.Some were laughing, some were working, some were training. But for Peter, what was most important was that each of them were alive.

Focusing back onSeftis, Peter frowned.

“And so what…? What’s the catch? I’m not an idiot, you know. You don’ t… you don’t just do all this, kidnap me and threaten everyone just to – just to ask me whether I want them to live or die!”

A smile slowly pulled across Seftis’ lips.

“You’re right.”

Peter’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest in panic and anger, and he wanted to scream. “Then what –.”

“If you choose for them to live, then I will require something in return.”

Peter glared. “And what is that?”

“Memories.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Memories. More specifically, your friends’.”

“Memories,” Peter repeated. “You want… you want their… their _memories_.” His eyes turned to the Avengers in the mist before him, brows furrowing in confusion. “So what – you want… you want to give them amnesia?”

Seftis smiled, shaking his head. “No, dear boy – of you. What I want is their memories of _you_.”

It took Peter a moment to understand what he was asking, but when he did, he had found he was only more confused than before. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Why would you want that? What the hell does their memories of _me_ matter to _you_?”

Seftis lifted his hand in the air, and orange spears suddenly appeared behind each person in the mist, and from what Peter could see, not a single one of them were aware.

“Is that really what’s important right now?” Seftis asked. “Just know that I have no qualms about killing any of them – or any other person in your little part of the world. Their lives do not matter to me. Now make your choice.”

All of the spears began to spin.

Peter struggled to find words. Who the hell was this guy? Where had he taken them? Why the hell was he going on about needing memories? And everyone, what – were they even really there? Or was he just showing him some fake, magical video about everyone dying, so that he would agree to what he wanted?

But what if he was telling the truth?

The emotions he had felt when he’d thought Clint and the others had died before roiled within him. He couldn’t… he didn’t want to see that again.

But what if –

“Five.”

Peter jumped, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, what?!”

“Four.”

Peter’s head flung to the Avengers and back to Seftis. “No, stop! Stop!”

“Three.”

Peter tried to move, tried to take a swing at the man, tried to stop him, but his arms and legs wouldn’t budge. “I said stop!”

“Two.”

The spears began to move, rushing towards each person, all still blissfully unaware of the –

“One.”

“ _Their memories!”_

The spears came to a halt inches before each body, hovering in the air.

Peter had breathed heavily, struggling to form words. Finally he spoke. “Their memories.” He turned to Seftis, his heart beating loudly in his ears. “Their memories. Take their memories of me and just… just let them live. Please don’t kill them. Just let them _live_.”

Seftis had smiled, his lips parting to reveal cracked, yellowed, and rotting teeth. “A good choice, my boy. A good choice indeed.” He’d lowered his hand and all of the spears disappeared. A few seconds later the orange mist dissolved and the images of everyone – of Tony, Steve, May, Bruce, Ned – dissolved along with it.

In the blackened silence, all Peter could hear was his own, gasping breath and the racing beat of his heart.

Seftis didn’t say much after that, he just smiled – and damn, did Peter hate that smile – and placed a burning finger once more against Peter’s forehead. “And Peter,” he said, “if you try and worm your way back into Stark’s life and his little fold of Avengers, or anyone you once knew, it will not end well.”

And with that, everything went black. Peter had woken up in an alleyway near Queens, and after that, well… after that….

Peter would rather not remember all that. Suffice it to say, Seftis had proved good on his word, as he would find Tony, Bruce, May, even Hawkeye – everyone was fine. He couldn’t even find word on Seftis’ attack. It were as though those last few weeks with Seftisin New York hadn’t happened. He had made the right choice, then. Everyone was fine, and everything was back to normal.

At least for everyone else.

But Peter was okay with that. Because if he had to make the choice again, he would make the same one every time. Even with all that had happened, even with the way things were now, he would still make that choice. Because a life with his friends and family in the world was far better than a life where they weren’t.


	3. Desolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

When Peter woke up the next morning, he seriously considered staying in the attic and not leaving for the entire day. He had done it before, on days when he had wished that his entire life could just fade away and he would never have to wake again. Most of those days had occurred shortly after he had returned from Seftis, when he was still processing all that had happened and coming to terms with the aftermath of his decision.

For the first few months after he had come back, Peter had rollercoastered through the emotions of anger, fear, and despair. One day he would be seething in madness over what had happened, furious with Seftis and the entire world for what he had lost; the next he would be screaming through his covered mouth, trying to keep back the searing grief of what felt like his whole world being ripped apart. He had destroyed more brick walls than he could care to count.

For the briefest moment, he had thought of finding Tony or Captain America or any of the Avengers; he had thought maybe if he sat them down and explained to them, if he screamed loud enough and tore his fingers through his hair that maybe, just maybe, they would be able to figure out a way to turn it all back; that they could wave their hands with the inexplicable magic and good fortune that always seemed to follow them and then maybe, just maybe, he could get his life back; he could wake up and all of this will have turned out to have been just a horrible, terrible, frightening dream.

But the days had passed, and nothing had happened. There was no Avenger that dropped out of the sky; there was no Aunt May or Uncle Ben to appear and wrap him in their arms; there was no one to reach down and save him from this horror he now called his life.

His life as Spider-Man had gone, too.

For the first while, Peter had found it difficult to remember that he no longer had his suit or his web-shooters. There was one time when he heard a cry for help; Peter had instinctively started to run, he had jumped off of the building and aimed his hand, his fingers pressing against the empty space that his shooters had once occupied. By the time he had remembered they were not there, it had been too late, and Peter had fallen the ten stories to the ground, landing on a car and leaving a massive dent in its wake.

He’d thought about starting over as Spider-Man; about trying to find the ingredients to make all of his webbing and shooters from scratch, just as he had at the very beginning. But he didn’t exactly have the same access to ingredients as he’d had while living in relative privacy with Aunt May, and being able to snitch the various chemicals from the science room. Besides, even if he was able to get everything that he needed and was somehow able to be Spider-Man once again, it was in the end all too risky. He did not want to draw the attention of the people and authorities, or worse – the Avengers.

In the end, all he really wanted was to be left alone.

The realisation that he had now not only lost his friends, family, and life, but also his ability to be Spider-Man, had hit him unexpectedly hard. It was a final punch to the face from what had been a horrific and hideous beating.

He’d spent the next two months drifting through the city, sleeping beside dumpsters and underneath store overhangs, before being shooed roughly away at six in the morning when the staff came to work.

It took him a while, but eventually Peter found some semblance of food that he was able to somewhat regularly find. The first and most common option was, of course, dumpster diving. Most of his food was found in dumpsters, and, if he were brave enough, in the nearest residential trash bins. He had never imagined that he would be digging through other people’s garbage bags for their tossed food; but considering it was either that or starve, Peter had chosen the former.

The second option was to steal.

Peter had never thought in all his life that he would one day be stealing from stores and food stands in order to eat; he had never thought he would ever steal, period. But a moral compass was hard to follow when his stomach was literally eating itself from hunger.

The last option Peter had found was Julian.

Julian was the co-owner of a small restaurant only three blocks from Peter’s attic. He had caught Peter ruffling through his dumpster one morning, having forgotten to throw out the leftover food the night before. Peter had thought that Julian would yell and swear at him, and threaten to call the police like all the others. At first Julian _had_ shouted, telling him to get out of the bin and take off, but when he had finally seen Peter’s face the anger had fallen away, leaving the man with a peculiar expression.

Peter hadn’t wanted to stay to figure out what that look was, but when he tried to leave, quietly apologising over and over again, Julian had stopped him. He had then taken out a few boxes of leftovers and handed them to him.

Peter tried to say no, that he just wanted to leave, but Julian had insisted and soon Peter found himself with three more boxes of food, and instructions to leave before “the real boss comes and kicks you – and me – in the ass”.

Peter tried to leave Julian and his generosity alone, but over the while when he had nowhere else to go, he would find Julian taking out the trash around the same time every evening, and with a little luck Julian would see him and take pity, and give him something to eat.

Four months in was when Peter found the attic, and after finding a worn out mattress in a dumpster – seriously, the amount of things people threw out was unreal – life had settled into a small but somewhat stable routine. Throughout this time he found blankets – which he washed in the bay – and he was set. Life was nothing as it had been, but at least he was no longer sleeping on the street, or cold and starving.

No, life was definitely not what it had been. But this was his life now.

* * *

Jumping down from the dumpster, Peter uncovered the rest of the bread from the wrapping and took a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he began heading back onto the street, wondering idly what he should do for the day.

Old Man Dan would be down in the alley by Main, but whether he had anything good to sell was unlikely. Not to mention the fact that the last time Peter tried to haggle with him, he had lost both the watch he’d found, and two bucks. Nah, he’d rather not get screwed over today, thank you.

Peter stopped at the corner of the street, waiting with a dozen other pedestrians for the white man to appear on the crosswalk sign. Though they were somewhat jammed together, Peter could feel the slight distance that they kept between themselves and him; it probably seemed like nothing to anyone looking, but with his heightened senses, the intent was obvious. It was okay though; four, heck – even two years ago, he would have done the exact same thing. Besides, he couldn’t blame them; with his stained jacket, tattered jeans, and smell, he didn’t exactly appear like the most welcoming of individuals. And he was a teenager – couldn’t forget that.

Though sometimes, it was only all too easy.

People began moving and Peter slowly walked with them. Eventually the group dispersed as they arrived on the other side, everyone going their own way as Peter mingled in with a new crowd.

He continued on for another hour, walking aimlessly, only stopping once or twice to nod his head or say hello to one of the guys panhandling on the street corners, or sitting along the edge of the buildings. They would give a brief acknowledgment back, before carrying on as they were.

Peter’s stomach suddenly twisted painfully and he stopped. Someone bumped into his back and he heard a snide remark as they passed, but he didn’t listen. Looking up, he realised that he was standing outside of a bakery. Its smells wafted through the door as it opened and closed, filling Peter with a familiarity so painful, it was almost worse than the hunger.

Because he could remember. He could remember having biscuits and buns first thing in the morning; he could remember when his parents would take him to the local bakery, and he’d stare at every item on display, his eyes and mouth opened wide, wishing he could have every single one. He remembered when someone else would pop a bagel in the toaster, the smell of it seeping under the door into his room, and when he came out, Aunt May would –

No. No, he wasn’t thinking about that. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t need to think about that. Not after the incident a month ago. May had moved on with her life; it was about time he moved on with his.

Staring through the window, Peter watched as a man handed the cashier a couple dollar bills in exchange for a full paper bag, then turned round and left. A mother pulling her young child was next, quickly tapping her card against the machine and handing her son a bagel, before turning and leaving as well. The son – probably only six, at the most – took a bite, gnawing on it for a few moments before his eyes looked up, and he caught Peter’s gaze. The boy smiled widely and waved. Surprised, Peter took a moment before raising his own hand, and giving a small wave back.

The motion, however, caught the mother’s eye. She looked down at her son then up at Peter, her face growing cold. She roughly pulled her son along, walking him out the door and quickly disappearing down the street.

Peter stared after them for a long moment, before his hand finally fell back to his side and he moved on.

* * *

As the hours passed, the clear sky began to cloud over, cold permeating the air and the clouds turning grey with the threat of rain.

It was late in the afternoon after hours of endless walking, when Peter began to take more notice of his surroundings. He had been walking on autopilot, moving as others moved. It was a game he sometimes played, allowing himself to get lost and see which new ways he could find to get back home. This time, however, the roads looked eerily familiar.

Peter frowned, wondering where he was. He had wandered many different streets and wayward roads in the past near-two years, but he didn’t think he had walked this one. And yet….

Recognition came to him in a sudden flash and with a start, he realised that his feet had taken him to the outskirts of the district of his old school.

Peter stared down the street for a long moment, unable to move.

…should he?

There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t. He needed to get over his past, he needed to forget it, he needed to move on.

… perhaps just a little peek. Just to see who was left. Just to see if anything had changed.

He stayed near the fence as he arrived, not wanting to go onto school property. While he wasn’t as bad off as some homeless people, it was still fairly obvious that he wasn’t a regular school kid, at least not one at Midtown High.

Looking round, Peter saw a few students walking to and from the main hall, some moving slowly and others clearly in a rush. It was after hours, and everyone still here were in the midst of their extracurricular activities. Peter remembered when he had done those, too, back before he was a teenager, back before he had become Spider-Man. Back before _this_. He had been so involved with his science club, which was where he’d met Ned, and he’d even tried out choir, when one of the teachers had once caught him singing and said he was quite good.

But then he had been bit by the spider, and everything had changed. Science club, choir, grades – none of it had mattered anymore. Because there was something more important to do – he had a greater purpose. A higher purpose. He had been given a gift, an ability – an ability to help others, to save others, to protect others and those he cared about when they could not protect themselves.

He could still remember his uncle’s words after he’d gotten in a fight once, so deeply were they ingrained into his memory, like a brand on his skin: _“_ _Peter…_ _just because you can beat someone up, doesn’t give you the right to. Remember – with great power, comes great responsibility.”_

He had ignored him, at the time; had sloughed his words off with nothing but a ‘ _yeah, yeah,_ _whatever_ _’,_ before running off to class.

Not long after that he had gotten the bite and then Uncle Ben had died; and he now understood those words more than perhaps he – or even his Uncle Ben – had ever wanted to. Because he’d been right. His uncle had been right, and now the consequences of that power, of that responsibility, was weighing on him like Atlas and the world. And like Atlas, Peter knew he had no choice but to bear it, because if he didn’t, it would have all been for noth –

Something suddenly crashed into Peter’s side, sending him tumbling to the ground in a heap. A heavy weight landed on top of him, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to crash into you! I was just – I was just in a rush, I’m late for class, and I just – I just – here, let me help you up.” A hand grabbed his arm and tried to lift him up. “My name’s Ned – Ned Leeds and I am so, so sorry mister –.”

Looking up, Peter could see Ned peering over him, his face twisted into a mesh of guilt and concern at having run Peter over. Ned tried to grab Peter under the arm again and lift him, but the position was too awkward and Peter simply fell back to the ground. Finally they managed to untangle themselves from each other, and Peter was able to stand back up.

Eye to eye, Ned was still apologising a mile a minute. “I’m so, so sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you hurt? I can – I don’t have much money, but if you need to see a doctor, I have ten bucks –.”

Finally finding his voice, Peter said, “No. No, it’s – it’s okay. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me, I’m… I’m fine.” His voice was raspy and dry, the words somehow difficult to speak.

Ned breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good – because I really need that money for dinner. Besides, I’m not really sure ten bucks would go very far at the hospital, right?” He chuckled, but the laughter died away as Peter remained silent.

Ned looked back at the school, then at Peter, a slight frown turning his lips. “Hey, are you a student? Do you go to this school? Which classes are you in? Do you have Mr. Connors for physics, or –.” Ned suddenly gasped, his eyes going wide. “Or are you a – a rival? Are you from Forest Hill? Because if you’re here to spy on us, I swear – I am not giving up _anything_! My lips are completely sealed! You can lock me in a room and torture me if you want, but I’m not telling you when our practices on Saturday afternoon are, or if we’re planning on trying for the cup this year, or if that’s just what we’re saying as a decoy and what we’re actually to do is just focus on rebuilding, and –.”

Peter grimaced slightly, and Ned immediately stopped.

“Whoops, sorry – was I rambling? I think I’m rambling. I tend to ramble sometimes, when I get talking. I just keep going and going and I it’s sometimes difficult to know when to stop, and –.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Peter said quickly.

Ned stared for a moment, then cocked his head to the side curiously. “So you don’t go to this school?” he asked.

Peter stared at Ned for a moment, then swallowed. “Uh, no,” he said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t go to this school… anymore.”

Ned’s eyes went wide. “Woah, so you _did_ go to this school? When were you here? I thought we might be the same age, but you must be way older! How old are you? Did you graduate? I’m graduating this year, and –.”

“No,” Peter interrupted, “I – I didn’t graduate. I went here a long… a long time ago.”

Ned blinked. “Oh. Did you move? Are you just coming back to visit? Did you have lots of friends here? Would they be anyone that I know?”

Peter blinked, trying to keep up with Ned’s endless stream of words. How had he been able to do this so easily before? “Um, y-yeah,” he stuttered. “Yeah, I… I ended up… moving. I was in the area, so I thought… I thought I’d come by and visit.”

“Oh,” Ned said cheerily. “Well that’s cool! Hey, I’d stay and talk, but I have to get to class – I swear, Owens will kill me if I’m late again. But hey! We should hang out sometime! You seem pretty cool! Are you coming by again tomorrow? I’ll be out of class by three, so maybe we could get together and play some Star Wars games, or –.” A beeping sounded from Ned’s watch, and his eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Oh shit, I have to get going.” He turned around and started to run, but quickly turned his head back with a wave. “I’ll see you later!”

Ned had made it to the gates when something odd suddenly struck him.

“Wait,” he said, turning back around. “What’s your name?”

But Peter was already gone.

Ned blinked, staring at the vacant spot for a moment before looking round. Where the heck had that guy gone? Wasn’t he just….

Confused and a little weirded out, Ned stayed staring at the empty sidewalk a few moments longer, before finally turning back and heading into the school.

* * *

He shouldn’t have done that. That had been a _bad_ decision. Why was he making so many bad decisions lately? First May, now Ned. He should have just stayed away, should have never allowed himself to wander so far away from downtown. He should have never allowed himself to go back to the school. He had done so well, he’d gotten so far to the point where thinking about Ned and school and the life he’d left behind only hurt like a dull ache in your chest; not like a painful, stinging wound that had just re-opened.

Peter abruptly turned into an alleyway, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he tried to disappear and get away from this stupid, stupid world and everything and everyone in it.

Raindrops splashed against his head and a clap of thunder rumbled across the sky. Peter looked up, staring down the road that would lead him back home. There was a nudge, however, an inkling, a tug in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t leave him be. It urged him to continue down the alley, towards who knew where. Probably towards someone who needed help, or a cat that needed rescuing.

Except he didn’t listen to those urges, not anymore. Those urges and inklings and whispers in the back of his mind only ever got him into trouble. They would only ever make his life worse than what it already was.

Though, really, he did well enough doing that on his own.

Peter’s eyes turned down the alley and he stared in silence for a long, long moment. Finally, he turned round and headed back onto the street.

* * *

Rain fell steadily to the ground, splashing onto Peter’s feet and against his legs.

He sat huddled underneath the alcove of an old storm drainage pipe, which thankfully no longer worked. He hadn’t made it back in time to the attic before the rain really started to pour, so it was either walk in the rain for another hour, or find some sort of shelter and wait it out.

He had no where to be, so he’d decided to wait.

 _Well_ _,_ Peter thought to himself, _it’s been nearly two years now, and everything is still the same. Nothing’s changed. So… what now?_ _I can’t get a real job, not until I turn eighteen. I can’t go to the cops and ask for help, they’d just stick me in foster care and call it a day. I really have no choice but to wait until my birthday, I guess. But that’s another four months away…._

The reason he couldn’t go to the authorities or find a real job was because he’d already tried that. He’d gone to the cops two months after _It_ happened, thinking they’d help him somehow – wasn’t that their job? He didn’t know exactly how they would help, but seventeen years of being told they were meant to help you tended to make you think they actually would.

Peter had thought that when Seftis had erased everyone’s memories, he had essentially erased his entire existence. He may has well have, for all it was worth. But when he’d walked into that police station and talked to one of the deputies and gave his name, the deputy had, unknown to him, ran a check. And to Peter’s surprise, he had actual records.

It had been a great shock, at first, a pounding of the heart as he realised that he hadn’t been entirely forgotten, that there was still some trace of him left in the world.

-

“ _Peter Parker, you said?” The deputy had asked._

_Peter nodded._

_The cop – Brian, his tag said – looked back at his computer, a suddenly unreadable expression on his face._

“ _You wouldn’t happen to have any identification on you, would you?”_

_No, he’d left his student ID and learner’s license back in the pile of clothes and backpack that he had left shoved behind a dumpster, before he’d gone to fight Seftis. All he had was an old over-sized t-shirt and pair of pants that he’d taken from a homeless shelter, and the underwear he’d been wearing after he’d woken up alone in the alleyway._

“ _No,” he replied. “I don’t… I don’t have anything like that. Is that… is that like, super important?”_

_The deputy gave him a clear look that said, ‘no duh’, and Peter shirked back. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here after all._

“ _Having personal identification is important,” Brian said, “but it’s not unusual for people to lose it. Especially if they’ve been robbed, or… something like that.”_

_The deputy was giving him a hard stare, which was slowly raising the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck, his senses whispering that he was missing something. But what was there to miss?_

_There was silence for a moment, before Brian continued with a sigh: “So you still say you’re Peter Parker?”_

_Peter frowned, staring at the man in confusion. “Yes,” he said slowly. “That’s who I am. Peter. I’m Peter Parker. That… that’s me.” It felt important to say that, for some reason, as though saying it out loud still confirmed he was here, confirmed that he was still around. That he still existed._

_The man let our a put-upon sigh and turned back to his computer, giving Peter one last look. “Take a seat.”_

_So Peter sat._

_Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. The man eventually called over another cop and the two looked at the screen, their whispers easily picked up by Peter’s ears:_

“Do you think it’s really him?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“But that’s impossible. How many of them come back after that long?”

“Not a lot.”

_Both men looked up at Peter, and Peter shrunk in his seat. What were they talking about?_

_The one man slapped a hand on Brian’s back and Brian stood up, the two men disappearing into the hallway and into a room, closing the door behind them. Peter stared at the door, his ears twitching as he listened in on every word._

“It’s the strangest thing, Jeff! Kid just walks in off the street, obviously homeless, and says he’s this Peter Parker guy. He has no ID, no nothing. I go to look him up for the heck of it, and sure enough – there’s actual records of him! Database says he was born exactly when and where he said he was, and that he went to school in Queens. Last known records say he was attending Midtown High until the age of fourteen.”

“And? Where did he go after that?”

“Well that’s just it – the records stop after that. There’s nothing else on him. It’s like he just disappeared. He literally doesn’t show up anywhere in the system after that.”

“Did someone file a missing persons report? Is this a missing kid we’ve just found?”

“No, there’s nothing. I searched in databases all across the country. There’s nothing. There’s no one looking for him.”

 _There was silence for a few moments, before the other cop said,_ “So this kid just fell off the face of the earth, and now he’s back again? That’s more than a little strange, Brian. Where are his parents? Who’s his guardian?”

“Computer says his parents died ten years ago; his current guardian is a May Parker, says it’s his aunt.”

“Do you have her number? We’ll have to call her, confirm this is her nephew and that he’s indeed been missing for the past three years. We’ll have to go talk to her, ask her where he’s been.”

_Peter jerked, clenching his teeth._

_No, no. There was no way that he was going to do that. He could remember Seftis’ voice clear as day, telling him to not try and get involved with anyone he once knew. If he got involved with them, if he got too close, then all of this would have been for nothing. And showing up on Aunt May’s doorstep with the cops telling her he’s her nephew, would be the exact opposite of that goal._

“And what if she’s the one that got rid of him, huh? What if the reason there are no missing persons reports is because she wanted him gone? Wouldn’t be the first time, Brian. If that’s the case, we’ll have to find temporary custody of him until we can get him into the foster system. He’ll have no choice, not until he turns eighteen.”

_And that was definitely a no. Absolutely not. He was not getting May in trouble with the police, he was not getting her interrogated over someone she had no clue even existed, much less who claimed to be her nephew. And he didn’t know tons about foster care, but he knew enough to know there was no way in hell he’d want to go anywhere near it. He’d rather take his chances on the street._

_Peter could hear the men continue to talk, but he knew they’d eventually come back. It was time to leave. So Peter stood up, went to the door, and left._

-

“ _He’ll have no choice, not until he turns eighteen.”_

Those words had gone over and over through Peter’s mind for the last seventeen months, both a whip on his back and a carrot on a stick. He knew now that if he ever did try to get back into the government’s system, whether through a job or trying to start a new life in any way that involved the legal system, they’d refuse to let him move. And, very likely, they’d try and force him under a guardianship he didn’t want.

So until he turned eighteen, he was stuck. He was stuck living in an attic and hiding out under drainage pipes, stuck scrounging for food and begging from strangers. He was stuck here, with no way to build a new life, no way to move forward.

But once he turned eighteen… then he’d be free. He could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted, be anything he wanted – and no one could stop him. He had been thinking about it for a while, and he figured that the day his birthday hit, he’d scrounge up all the money he’d managed to find and save, and he’d buy a one-way ticket to somewhere far away. He thought maybe Wisconsin, or Ohio, or maybe even Washington State. Just so long as it was far away from New York; just as long as it was far away from here.

The hours passed and the rain continued to pour. Curling to the side and pressing his head against the grate, Peter closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	4. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry for the late update! I went to visit family and the husband commandeered the laptop in order to play his video games, haha. 
> 
> Thank you all so, SO much for your wonderfully kind comments and for leaving kudos! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Peter had been sitting atop the roof of one of the city’s many skyscrapers for the past hour, staring into the distance. It was quiet up here on this clear-blue day, one could even say it was peaceful; save only for the endless clamour of thoughts going through his mind.

It had been almost a week since his run-in with Ned. Until that point – until he had so stupidly allowed his feet to wander where they should never have trod – until then he had been recovering. Not healing, no. Those wounds would always fester beneath his skin, but at least they had been sustainable. At least they had been somewhat livable. But after May and now Ned, well…. he may as well have taken another knife and made sure they would never try to heal again. And Peter was fairly sure he couldn’t endure another incident like that.

After the first few months had passed, Peter had come to a point where he had begun to wonder if there was really any point in continuing on anymore. With no friends or family, or even a life to speak of, what was the point? Living on the streets surrounded by drugs, gangs, and violence wasn’t exactly what one would call a high quality of life. If he hadn’t found the attic, if he didn’t have the unnatural strength and abilities that the spider had given him, he wasn’t sure he would have survived the first few weeks. Even still, he had been left to fend for himself in a once-familiar place, that now seemed terribly and incredibly foreign.

But then he had found the attic, he had found Julian. He had found some semblance of a new normal that left him thinking maybe, just maybe, he could survive this. If he managed to stick it out the next two years, then maybe he could make it out. Maybe he could still have some sort of a life that didn’t consist of endless days of running from violence and wondering when his next meal would be.

If he just made it to eighteen, he wouldn’t have to worry about government authorities finding him and putting him into foster care. He had already lost his life once; he didn’t need someone else coming in and taking what little he had left now.

But Peter didn’t think he could make it to eighteen anymore.

Because really, even if he did make it to legal adulthood – what would really be on the other side? What would be waiting for him there? Simply being an adult didn’t make you smart; it didn’t suddenly open a door to riches, comfort, and stability. If anything, it did the exact opposite. As Peter had learned, life wasn’t kind to everyone. In fact, most of the time it was downright cruel. Sadistic, even. Unless you started out with something, you rarely ever made it to anything.

Maybe Peter had been on that path once; had once had family and friends and a life that would see him happy, comfortable, and fulfilled. But not now. Now, he had nothing. And you couldn’t make something from nothing.

In fact, Peter would dare to say that it was all but impossible.

Peter’s ears twitched as a high-pitched screeching sounded from the streets below, followed by a loud crash. Shouts soon rose to his ears, and Peter slowly got up and walked to the edge, peering down over the side.

A three-car pile up laid across the street and sidewalk below. People were scrambling out of their cars, each yelling at the other for their supposed screw up, while pedestrians stopped to see if anyone was hurt. Dogs barked and horns honked. Another day in New York City.

Peter frowned, then leaned back. Raising his head he took a moment to look, gazing at the city around him.

He could see the edge of the harbour in the distance, the seagulls flying around it, the sounds of ships and trucks rising into the air above. He could make out the familiar New York landmarks: the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the World Trade Center….

Peter took a breath.

The thoughts that had been plaguing him the past couple weeks started roaming in his mind once more. He shook his head, hoping that the thoughts would shake off and disappear.

But really, though, what was the point? What was the point in continuing to struggle to find food each day, diving in dumpsters filled with disgusting and often unspeakable trash, that left him feeling as though he were part of it himself? What was the point in curling up in pain as his stomach screamed and begged for food? What was the point in sometimes going days, _weeks_ , without speaking to a single person, without looking anyone in the eye, with being surrounded by millions of people but not interacting with a single one?

What was the point in living a life that not a single person in the entire world knew you were living?

There wasn’t a point. That was the truth of it. In the end, if he had none of these things, then there really wasn’t a _single_ point in continuing to –

“Hey there son, are you all right?”

Peter jumped, startled. He turned his head to see a man standing near the roof-top door, staring at him with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw, his eyes wide.

Peter stared at him, wondering who he was and what he was doing here. The man looked strangely alarmed, as though seeing Peter had somehow freaked him out. Peter supposed it did; it wasn’t every day you found a random street-bum on your rooftop.

Peter hadn’t realised he hadn’t answered until the man spoke again: “I think you ought to come down from there, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s rather close to the edge; you wouldn’t want to fall.”

Peter blinked, then looked down, suddenly realising that he was standing on top of the roof’s ledge. At some point between now and the last few minutes – few hours? – he had climbed onto the edge of the building and stood there, staring across the rest of the city, only a hair’s breath separating his feet from the open air.

Peter frowned. He didn’t remember climbing up; he was just suddenly here.

“Son?”

Peter swallowed. He knew he should listen to the man, that he should get the hell off the edge and onto the rooftop where it was safe, but his feet stayed where they were. It wasn’t like this was the first time that he had stood on the edge of a roof; he had done it countless times as Spider-Man. Rooftops had never been frightening to him. Heck, they were often where he felt at ease the most.

But this time he didn’t have his web-shooters. This time he didn’t have a suit with a built-in parachute. This time he didn’t have Iron Man to catch him if he fell.

Peter looked back down at the ground below.

It was an awful long way, even for him. He had fallen from many high places before, but the most that he had been left with was a sore side or back, and even that healed within a day. This high up though… a fall from this height wouldn’t just end in bumps and bruises, it would end in something far more serious than that.

Peter knew that what he was contemplating was absolutely crazy, that there was no way whatsoever that he should even be thinking it. Aunt May… Aunt May would absolutely kill him if she ever even heard a _whisper_ of what was going through his mind. She would carve him up for dinner then send him to his room without eating, where he would stay until he was old and grey. She would never forgive him for thinking of taking another person away from her, after she had already lost so much. After she had lost her her parents, her brother and sister-in-law, her husband…. So there was no way he could even begin to contemplate it; it was crazy.

But Aunt May wasn’t here any more. She didn’t even know who he was. And right now… right now he couldn’t help but think that the only crazy thing was to stay alive in a world where he might as well already be dead.

No one knew who he was anymore; he had been wiped from their memories, he had been removed and cast away as though he were nothing more than forgotten trash. He knew that they couldn’t help it, that his friends and family didn’t have a choice, that it was instead because of _his_ choice that this life was now his; but that still couldn’t stop the voice in the back of his mind from crying in frustration, from screaming in anger, from whispering that maybe the best thing he could do was end his life, because right now the only person that knew he even existed was was him, and –

A hand suddenly grasped Peter’s elbow and he jumped, instinctively jerking round and trying to raise his arms in an attempt to block, or fight, or –

The man was staring up at him with hard eyes, his lips pressed together as his jaw remained clenched. They stared at each other for a brief moment, before the man’s quiet, but stern voice broke the silence: “I think you ought to come down now, son. Come on, that’s it; just come on down and then we can talk.”

Without really meaning to, Peter found himself following the man as he led him off the building’s edge, and back onto the roof below. He didn’t realise his heart was racing until the pounding blood in his ears was all he could hear.

Once they were safely near the door in the middle of the roof, the man sat Peter down against the wall before making his way to sit beside him. Peter noticed the man’s hands were shaking, and he wondered if he was cold.

“Now then,” the man said, “what’s your name?”

Peter stared at him for a long moment before finally speaking, unable to keep the stutter from his lips: “P...Peter.”

“Well Peter, my name is Joe. It’s nice to meet you.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

Joe didn’t seem the least bothered. “So what brings you all the way up here?” he asked. “It’s a mighty long way from the ground. Did you take the stairs or the fire escape?”

Again, Peter said nothing.

“Well I guess that’s not really important at this point.” Joe sighed, and from the corner of his eye Peter could see him fiddling with a camera in his hands.

After a moment he looked up, gesturing to the buildings around them. “I was just gonna come up here and take some pictures. My boss is driving me a bit mad1, so I figured I’d use this old camera as an excuse to keep from strangling him.” Joe chuckled.

Peter glanced over at the camera, noting the lack of screen and the old shutter button. Definitely before the digital age.

Joe continued on. “I work for a newspaper,” he said. “The _Daily Bugle_. My boss is a bit nuts – well okay, some people would say he’s crazy – but he’s a good man. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he is.

“But today he decided he was going to push the idea that the paper should focus more on superheroes; like Tony Stark and his band of Avengers. It’s been a while since they were really needed, so none of the other papers are talking much about them anymore. I think that’s why Jameson wants to start focusing on ‘em again; papers sold like crazy when they were around. I’ve told him now, I’ve said to just move on and let it be, that we should consider it a good thing that we don’t seem ‘em anymore. But when Jameson gets stuck on something, he refuses to leave it.”

Joe held out his camera to Peter. “One of the interns found this while going through an old storage room. If my memory serves me right, I’d say it’s an old ‘86 RC model. I’ve been fiddling with it all day trying to fix it; came up here to see if it works. And get away from the boss.”

Joe lifted up the camera to his eye, spun the dial a few times, and clicked the shutter. Nothing happened.

“Ah, you see,” he said, shaking his head. “Darn thing refuses to work. The shutter won’t snap down, so the picture won’t take.” Joe sat the camera on the ground. “Ah well, at least it got me outdoors for a while.”

Peter stared at the camera for a long moment. The wind picked up, ruffling through his hair. He glanced quickly between Joe and the camera, before finally reaching over and quietly picking it up. He looked back up at Joe, searching for any sign of anger or raised brows. Finding none, he looked the camera over for a few seconds, before snapping the bottom slide open.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, before Peter finally spoke: “The latch is unhinged,” he said, peering inside the camera. “And one of the gears is loose. If you just tighten the screw over here, you’ll get the gear working again. And all you have to do is re-connect the latch from the button to the lens, and that should get the shutter working. You just need to have a –.”

“Here,” Joe said.

Peter suddenly saw a small jackknife being held in front of him. He glanced up, finally meeting Joe’s eyes. To his surprise, they seemed gentle and reassuring, and oddly trusting. Or perhaps deceptively. Taking the knife, Peter pulled out the small screwdriver and began working on the camera.

Not more than five minutes later, he closed the slide and handed the object back to Joe. “Here,” he said quietly. “It should work now.”

Joe gave him a look, but took the camera and lifted it up, pressing the button. The flash shone and the button clicked. Joe moved back with a look of surprised incredulity on his face. “Well I’ll be damned!” he said. “It actually works!” He paused for a moment, then looked down at Peter. “You’re a smart kid,” he said.

The smile slowly fell from Joe’s face and he leaned back against the wall, the camera forgotten. “So what brought you all the way up here?”

Peter felt his body tighten and he looked away.

After a moment of silence, Joe spoke. “That’s all right then, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But let me tell you something: I’ve lived in New York all my life. I’ve seen the city inside and out. And to be quite frank, I know what a drug addict looks like. I know what someone who spends all their time drinking looks like; and you don’t look like any of those things. You do look like you’ve been on the streets, though. So let me take a guess – you been having trouble at home? Fighting with mom and dad? Your siblings?”

Peter’s feet scraped against the ground as he brought his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and looked away. “No,” he said after a long moment. The words came out before he could stop them: “My parents died when I was seven. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Foster home then?” Joe asked.

“No.”

“What then? It has to be something. Kids don’t just leave home because everything’s goin’ fine and dandy. You can tell me, son; I don’t hafta tell no one else if you don’t want me to.”

Peter wondered what the man’s response would be if he actually did tell him; if he told him that the reason he was a homeless bum on the streets, begging and stealing food and even money, was because the life he had once lived had been stolen from him. Had been stolen and used as a bargaining chip, forcing him to choose between his life and everyone else’s.

He wondered if he would believe him when he said that once he had a family, had friends, had fellow heroes in the fight against men and women and creatures who wanted nothing more than to gain wealth and power, whether through killing one person or killing millions. He wondered if he would run away, or maybe pat him comfortingly on the back before taking him to the insane asylum.

He wondered if maybe, just maybe, the man would believe him.

“I was living with my aunt and uncle,” Peter finally admitted. “My uncle died a few years ago…” that much, at least, was true, “and my aunt, well….” Peter swallowed. “My aunt may as well not even know who I am anymore. She has a new boyfriend, and… and he’s all that matters to her. She doesn’t need me now. So there’s no point in hanging around, right? No point in staying when I’m not wanted.”

Joe didn’t respond, and the two sat in silence for a few, long minutes.

The air was cold, a sign of the changing weather and coming fall. The leaves were already starting to turn yellow, and soon enough they’d be falling to the ground, the trees awaiting the arrival of snow to fill their branches in their stead.

Seagulls cried in the distance and the light of the slowly setting sun shone off a building’s window, momentarily blinding him. Peter blinked and turned his face away, forced to look back at Joe. He glanced briefly at the man, before quickly looking away once more, briefly catching a glimpse of the man’s slightly-squinted eyes and furrowed brows.

Joe suddenly slapped his knees, then stood to his feet. “How abouts we go get something to eat? You must be hungry; my treat.”

Peter’s instincts told him to say no, that he didn’t need to be going anywhere with anyone, that it was best if he stayed alone. Staying alone meant staying out of sight; staying out of sight meant staying out of mind; staying out of mind meant never showing up on May’s or the Avenger’s radar ever again, which was good, that was good, that was safe, that was –

“Well? What do you say?”

Peter blinked, and his stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten since supper yesterday.

Finally, Peter rose to his feet, and nodded his head. “Yeah, okay,” he said quietly. “Sure.”

* * *

Peter didn’t know when the last time he’d had a burger was, but if the way he was inhaling the one in front of him right now was any indication, it was a very long time indeed.

After a few minutes his senses whispered that someone was watching, and he looked up.

Joe was staring at him, his own food barely touched. He was squinting slightly, as though he just couldn’t quite make Peter out. Peter slowed down self-consciously, placing his burger back on the plate.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t – I don’t have any money with me right now, so I can’t –.”

“Kid, I told you it was my treat, so it’s my treat.”

Knowing that it was probably pointless to argue – and the fact that he really didn’t have any money – Peter picked the burger back up.

The two continued eating for another fifteen minutes. Not wanting to push his luck, Peter stopped after the third burger, even though his stomach still grumbled for more.

When they were finally done and the cheque was paid, Joe leaned back in his seat. “Look, kid. I don’t want to even pretend like I know what you’re story is or what you’re going through; that’s your business. But if you need help right now, you just tell me and I’ll do it. You need food or even a place to stay, I can get you that. There are plenty of places out there that are just meant for helping young guys like you.”

Peter’s arms began to tingle, and the guards that had begun to fall during the last hour slowly started to build back up.

“That’s okay, sir,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I mean, thank you, but I –.”

“You don’t have to be so quick to say no, you know,” Joe interrupted. “Sometimes it’s okay to take some help once in a while, even if it’s from a stranger.”

Peter fell silent, not knowing what to say. He hadn’t accepted help – not this kind of help – from anyone, not since after Seftis, not since before That Day. And there was a good reason: because if anyone helped him, that meant they would start to get to know him; and if anyone got to know him, that meant that they might become friends. And if they became friends, then they could get close. They could get too close. They could get dangerously close, and then, well… Peter could only imagine what would happen then. Seftis had told him he would be watching, and that if he ever tried to find the Avengers again, if he ever tried to get close to any of them, if he tried to get close to anyone that might try and reverse what he had done, then… then….

Peter swallowed, the images of Seftis’ threats dancing behind his eyes.

No. It was better to remain as he had so far been: alone. Because if anyone got too close to him – Avengers or otherwise – it would surely only be the worse for them.

Joe sighed, breaking Peter out of his thoughts.

“You need help, Peter. Just let me give you that help. Please.”

Peter frowned, incredulity and anger suddenly flowing through his veins. “Why do you want to help me?” he asked loudly. “Why? We met barely over an hour ago, you don’t even know me, so how can you possibly think I’m a good charity case? I could be a drug addict, a dealer, a murderer, a –.”

“Because I don’t want to see another kid standing on the edge of a damn rooftop, ready to throw all of his fifteen years away just because no one thought well enough to help them. Or because he was too damn _stubborn_ to accept it.”

Peter’s mouth snapped closed.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, before Peter whispered with a small frown. “I’m _seventeen_.”

The angry glare that had been on Joe’s face suddenly fell, and a smile broke across his face as he laughed. “Well my mistake then,” he said.

Joe leaned down and pulled something out of his bag. He moved back up and placed a camera on the table, the one he had been testing out on the rooftop that morning. “Here,” he said, pushing it towards Peter. “I don’t have any need for this, so you can have it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed together. He stared at the camera, then back up at Joe. “But – but you just got this fixed! It’s an old camera; shouldn’t it be in an antique store or something?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “If ‘an old camera’ like that is an antique, what does that make me, hmm?”

Peter felt the colour rising in his cheeks, and he quickly tried to rectify what he’d said: “W-well, I didn’t mean – I wasn’t trying to say that you were old or anything, you’re not – I swear! You’re just _kinda_ old, like, not Dick Van Dyke old, just Harrison Ford old!”

“You think I’m in my mid-seventies?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wh-what? No! I meant – wow, is he really that old? – no, I meant that you were just – you’re just a lot older than me! You’re not young! I mean, you’re hair is starting to turn grey, but you still have some left, and – oh God….”

Peter dropped his head into his hands, wishing he were anywhere but here. He just had to go and let his mouth run, he just had to say that Joe was practically an old man and now he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him again; he’d probably pissed him off for good and now he would get up and yell at him and maybe even try to hit him, because that’s what everyone who was pissed with him tried to do, and he’d have to run, and –

Booming laughter suddenly broke through the silence, and Peter tentatively looked up through his hands to see Joe’s face overflowing with laughter. Joe kept laughing and laughing, until he brought up his hand to his face and wiped away a tear. “I like you, kid,” he said, still chuckling. “I like you a lot. Now here – take the damn camera and I won’t hear a single word otherwise. Besides, you’re the one that fixed it. If you hadn’t done that, it woulda just ended up in the garbage with the rest of the trash.”

He pushed the camera towards Peter once more, and finally Peter acquiesced and took it in his hands. He looked it over, taking in the old features, noting the lack of screen. Definitely wasn’t made in the 21st century.

“There’s a fresh roll of film in there.” Joe raised a brow and gave Peter a look, speaking very slowly: “A roll of film is what photographers used to use, back in the stone age, when –.”

“I know what film is,” Peter interrupted, ignoring the colour of embarrassment that was trying to rise again. He turned the camera around, staring at it thoughtfully. He had always been interested in photography, as a kid. He had always wanted to learn how people managed to take such amazing pictures of the night sky, or of the rays of the sun setting behind a building. But between school and after-class groups, and then with Spider-Man and the Avengers, well….

“Thank you,” Peter finally said, releasing his breath.

“You’re welcome,” Joe replied. “Feel free to come back to the _Bugle_ , and we’ll see what you make out with. If you get something good, who knows? Maybe I can convince Jameson to put it in one of the weekend editions.”

Peter blinked and looked up at Joe with furrowed brows. How could… how could he possibly… how could he ever repay –

“Just maybe come to the door next time, okay? No more rooftops on fifty-storey buildings.” Joe furrowed his brows, shaking his head at Peter with a small smile, lifting his coffee to his lips. “How’d you even make it up there, anyway? Did you find an old fire-escape, or something like that?”

Peter gave a small smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo! Thanks for reading!


	5. The Element of Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments! You guys are what keep me going :) I hope you enjoy this next chapter.
> 
> As well, please take note of the story tags! If any of them are not what you're into, best to stop now before getting in too deep. If they do interest you/are to your liking, then full speed ahead! Thanks :)

Peter ran along the street, jumping over a large puddle of water as he veered into the alleyway. He continued on with an almost – dare he say – skip in his step. Because today was a good day. In fact, Peter couldn’t remember being as happy in the last twenty-one months as he was today. For today he had not only found a bag full of fresh buns in the dumpster that would keep him fed for almost a week (he was certain someone was getting in big trouble right about now for accidentally throwing them out), but he had met Joe again at the _Daily Bugle_ , and the older man had said he’d take a look later at some of Peter’s pictures; maybe even show him the dark room if some of them were good.

Peter had learned to make a point of always expecting the worst from people; to hope or trust that someone would actually live up to what they said they would do, only ever proved to be all the more painful when they inevitably let him down.

But Joe had – so far – proven to be the opposite. When he claimed to like Peter and said he wanted to help him out, he actually stuck to that claim – even over an entire month later.

They hadn’t had the time to actually go into the dark room, but with a full stomach and a promise of good things to come, Peter couldn’t help the seed of hope that had begun to sprout inside him. Maybe life would get at little bit better after all, as for once things were finally looking up.

Coming to a secluded and forgotten little alleyway, Peter tightened his hood around his face and started climbing up a particularly tall dumpster. Reaching the top, he heaved the lid open, immediately covering his nose with his hood. The hot, pungent aroma hit him like a punch to the face, and he waited a few seconds before slowly crawling inside, looking for anything that could qualify as somewhat safely edible.

It had been just over two and a half months since the incident with May, and one month since seeing Ned. It had taken some time, but he had done his best to get over it and move on, now all the more determined never to go near them again. It had been like ripping open a wound and digging his finger inside; it wasn’t something Peter wanted to repeat again.

Which was why he was going to put all of his focus Joe and the camera. If he did his best to gain a foothold in the _Daily Bugle_ and with Jameson, then all he had to do was wait until he’d turned eighteen, and then he could finally come out of hiding and get a proper job, and maybe even an apartment, and after that… well, after that who knew what could happen. The possibilities were endless. And the thought had never made Peter want to smile more.

Peter grabbed a few things from amongst the trash and stuffed them in his bag. Closing the dumpster’s lid he crawled back down, the bag of buns held between his teeth as he held onto the bag with his arm. He made to the ground with barely a sound and, hiking the bag onto his back, proceeded to make his way out of the alley and onto the street.

He walked for an hour, making his way back to the attic as quickly as he could. He knew from experience that if he didn’t get his stash of food hidden away while he could, before other members of the street population saw, he wouldn’t have any stash of food left.

As Peter drew closer to one of the endless food stands, he slowly began to recognise the man that was in the process of paying for his food. A smile drew onto Peter’s face as he realised who it was.

“Julian!”

Julian turned, looking round. His eyes landed on Peter, and confused brows gave way into a small smile.

“Oh hey, Pete,” he said. He took the hot dog from the vendor and with a quick thanks, moved back to the side of the street. He gave Peter a nod. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Peter said, unable to keep the grin from his face. He motioned to the food on his back. “I don’t think I’ll have to visit you any time soon.”

Julian smiled. “That’s good to hear.” He took a bite of his hotdog. “’oo ‘ook aw’fly ‘appy,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I think… I think I am.” It had been a long time since Peter had been able to say he was truly happy; but for today – for now – he was.

Julian swallowed, his smile growing warm. “That’s good to hear. So you think you’re finally gonna get off the streets? You must be eighteen by now, right?” So Julian had guessed the reason why Peter had so far stayed where he was; if his accent didn’t give it away that he he was a true New Yorker, his knowledge did.

“W-well, I don’t –,” Peter stuttered, trying to find the right words. It was too far away yet to actually hope for things like that. “I don’t know about that. But maybe… maybe eventually, I could –.”

A cold whisper ran up the back of his neck, and Peter froze. He frowned, swallowed, and tried to speak again: “I think maybe one day I’d like to –.”

The shiver against his neck came again, and Peter’s muscles twitched.

He looked around, trying to find the source of the disturbance. His eyes scanned over the endless parade of people, cars, and animals, but nothing was wrong. At least not with them.

“...ete… eter… Peter!”

Peter’s attention snapped back to Julian, who was giving him an odd look. “You spacin’ out on me, kid?”

Peter dug his fingers into his bag, pulling it tighter against his back. “I’m sorry Julian,” he said, “But I’ve got to go.”

Without waiting for a response, Peter skirted around Julian and disappeared into the sea of people. He walked as fast as he could, deftly making his way around the people, until finally he managed to dash into an alleyway.

He spotted a dumpster and ran over to it, crouching on the other side away from view. He tucked his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the chill to pass, waiting for his spidey-senses to calm.

He did this whenever it was bad like this, whenever something particularly bad was happening and his senses insisted on telling him. He would always avoid looking at the headlines the following days; he didn’t want to know what had happened. He didn’t want to know who had been hurt, who had died. He didn’t want to do any of this anymore, he just wanted to be left _alone_.

The growl of an engine shot through Peter’s ears from above him and he looked up. Something suddenly whizzed in and out of Peter’s vision from above the building, and he blinked. If possible, the hairs on the back of his neck stood even taller, and his whole body began to tingle with the full awareness that something was _wrong_. The weight pressed in on him so greatly, that he almost found it hard to breathe.

Peter found himself staring into the sky. Whatever the source of the unease was, it was coming from up there.

With a quick glance round, Peter suddenly scurried around the side of the dumpster and quickly made his way up the side of the wall. When he reached the top he swung himself over the side, crouching low before peeking back up over the terrace’s edge.

He hadn’t felt anything like this since Before. The last time his spidey-senses had gone off so strongly was when Seftis….

But it couldn’t be. He’d made a deal. He’d made the trade, he’d signed the contract – it couldn’t be him. Why, after all this time, would he –

His spidey-sense flashed again and Peter’s eyes suddenly snapped to a dark figure in the middle of the sky. It was coming towards him, getting bigger and bigger every second, flying faster and faster and –

A loud cackle suddenly rang in his ears as the thing – it wasn’t Seftis, he knew that for sure now – flew past. As it did, something caught the edge of Peter’s vision, and it was coming straight towards him.

Instinct took over and for a brief moment time slowed down, and in the last second Peter jumped out of its way.

The explosion that followed knocked him off his feet and sent him careening over the opposite end of the building’s edge.

He could feel himself falling, the wind rushing past his face as he fell, faster and faster and –

Reaching out his arms, Peter slammed his hands against the side of the building; he fell a few more stories, his palms and fingers tearing against the concrete, desperately trying to make purchase, until finally they held and he slowed to a halt.

Peter remained still for a moment, his eyes wide and chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

Screams and shouts suddenly reached his ears, and Peter looked behind him. His heart caught in his chest as he saw dozens of people stopped on the streets, some stopping their cars in the middle of the road, their eyes wide with shock and fear and disbelief; they were all looking up, pointing to the sky towards him.

For a moment Peter’s heart began to race even faster, thinking they were looking at him, but he quickly realised that their eyes were turned above him, their fingers pointing just a bit higher –

Another loud cackle rumbled through the air, and a second later something went whizzing over top of him. Peter ducked, spinning his body around until his back was against the windows. He followed the – the _thing_ as it disappeared into the distance, becoming nothing more than a speck, before it began making a large turn and headed back towards him once more.

In the few seconds that he had, Peter spun himself back around and scrambled, crawling up and around the building until he was safe from view on the other side. He heaved himself onto the top of the roof, landing on the cement with a thud.

The screams and shouts intensified as the creature drew closer. Peter quickly surveyed the rooftop, taking in the blown-out hold and partial roof collapse. He swung his head back round, just in time to see a flash of dark-green coming straight towards him. Before he could even blink they collided, and he was once more sent flying across the rooftop, where he crashed against the ridge.

The creature gave him no time to recover, as in the next second Peter found himself being grabbed by the front of his sweater and lifted high into the air.

Peter struggled in its grip, kicking and hitting the thing as best he could, trying to wrestle his shirt back from its grasp. It was when his feet suddenly touched what felt like the ground that Peter looked down, realising with surprise that it wasn’t the creature itself that was flying, but was whatever it was standing on.

Without warning Peter was let go, and he was suddenly falling to the ground.

He landed on the rooftop once more, crashing with enough force that his body left a deep dent in the cement. It was a fall that would have killed any other man, and even for Peter it left him momentarily stunned.

The creature flew back down towards him and Peter looked up, getting a proper look at it for the first time.

Its face looked to be made of metal – a mask, Peter thought – one that was twisted in a permanent, manic smile, its large yellow eyes seemingly staring directly back into his own.

“Why hello there little spider,” it – _he_ – said, coming to a stop above him. “So I’ve found you at last.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide and his heart froze in his chest, everything around him shattering into silence until all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

The creature – the man? – suddenly swung out to hit him and Peter ducked, missing the blow by inches. Twisting back round, Peter scrambled and ran, trying to get off the roof as fast as he could.

The creature, though, didn’t let him leave his sight. He merely tutted, the hover-board he was standing on easily following after him.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. Just come over here with me and we can sit down for a nice, long chat.”

Peter could feel the creature’s hand reaching towards him, moments away from grabbing his neck. At the last second he turned, ducking out of the thing’s grip and dashing over to the other side of the building. Without a second thought, he jumped over the edge.

Peter slid down the side of the building on his fingers, listening as the wails of sirens began to draw closer – the police were on their way – the creature’s laugh sounding through the air.

“ _You can’t run away from me!”_

Just as he was nearing the bottom Peter heard a click, followed by the twists and snaps of gears and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but it was too late. The explosion that followed threw Peter off of the building and sent him flying into the alley bellow.

Peter could feel himself falling through the air for a brief moment, before his body suddenly and abruptly smashed into the pavement.

For a moment, everything was silent; all he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, fighting off the white stars that were suddenly encompassing his vision.

 _Shit_ , but did that hurt. Even falling back onto the rooftop hadn’t hurt as much as this –

Something was grabbing the front of his shirt and he was once more being lifted back into the air, his back pressed against the creature’s body as an arm wrapped around his neck. He tried to orient himself, to gain a hold on what was going on, but everything was happening too fast, too quickly, he couldn’t –

An instinct that Peter hadn’t felt in ages suddenly flowed through his veins, and before he knew what he was doing he was snapping his head back as fast and hard as he could.

The grip that had been holding onto him disappeared and for what felt like the millionth time, Peter was falling. Instead of colliding with the ground, however, something suddenly grabbed hold of his arm, jerking him to a stop. In the next moment, he was being lowered to the ground.

Peter looked up and his racing heart momentarily froze, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t.

Iron Man was above him, the silver eyes of his metal mask looking down at him. When Peter’s feet touched the rooftop he was let go, and Iron Man flew off.

Peter’s eyes were wide and chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, watching as Iron Man chased after the creature into the sky.

The two fought back and forth for a number of minutes, explosions going off as the creature threw grenades and as Iron Man returned the fire with shots of his blasters. Men and women were shouting and screaming beneath them, as the fight remained dangerously close to the ground and surrounding buildings.

A missed shot flew towards Peter and he scrambled back, barely managing to dodge out of the way before it hit the back of the roof. Pieces of cement went flying into the air, raining down on Peter’s head. Peter raised his arms, attempting to shield himself; just then there was a particularly loud explosion, followed by a crash. Peter looked up just in time to see Iron Man being thrown into the ground, with such force that his suit became wedged into the pavement.

Peter expected the creature to try and finish Iron Man off – or at least get in a few more hits while he was down – but instead it turned from the fight and started heading back towards _him_.

Peter instinctively began crawling backwards, trying to get away from the advancing creature as fast as he could. It was completely useless, though, as seconds later the yellow eyes were once more staring back into his own.

“Now, now, little spider. There’s no use in running anymore. How about we go and have a little chat?” The creature raised his hand and grabbed Peter’s head, holding it painfully tight between his metal fingers. Peter flinched back and threw his arms in front of his face, expecting to be hit, but nothing came. Instead, the creature only spoke one word: “ _Sleep_.”

A grey mist began shooting out of its metal arms and before Peter even had a chance to blink, it was encompassing his entire face, leaving him spluttering and gasping in a cloud of suffocating air.

As Peter fought for breath, he suddenly heard the sound of blasters charging up.

“Hey Greeny, how about you pick on someone your own size?”

Then, just like that, the blaster went off and the creature was blown away, Iron Man quickly chasing after it.

Peter fell forward, grabbing hold of his neck and continuing to cough, trying to wrench away the mist that felt as though it had attached itself to his lungs. Peter could hear the sounds of continued fighting behind him, but all he could see was the blood-splattered and dirt-covered cement beneath him as he continued to hack through his lungs.

His spidey-senses went off and Peter could sense the creature’s hover-craft coming up behind him, the roar of the engine hitting his ears a second later. Iron Man’s voice shouted in the distance.

“Dude, why the hell are you so adamant on killing this guy? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than killing innocent civilians?”

The creature ignored the questions and instead threw his arm. A second later there was an explosion, followed by more screams.

Peter looked up and saw Iron Man just as he was turning around to look at the scene on the street below, likely looking for any falling buildings or civilians in danger. A second later Peter heard another click, followed by turning of gears. Looking up, he could see the green creature’s hand held behind its back, a blinking grenade held in his fingers.

Peter’s head shot back to Iron Man, who was still distracted.

Without a second thought, Peter reached up and shoved his hand into the side of the engine, tearing his fingers through the wires and metal.

There was a loud bang and sparks flew, fire igniting across the metal edge. More bangs followed in quick succession, and the hover-craft was sent flying behind him.

Peter could hear the creature’s shouts of anger and alarm as he shot away. He turned round, watching as the creature fought to regain control of the hover-craft, jerking up and down and this way and that, before disappearing into the distance.

A few moments passed and Peter could only stare, his mind still trying to catch up to all that had happened.

A second later the sound of engines engulfed Peter’s ears and he listened as they came to a stop, followed immediately by metal clunking on the rooftop.

Peter twisted round, pushing himself against his arms. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat as he looked up at the great _Iron Man_. At Tony Stark. At _Mister_ Stark.

He had never wished to be as far from where he was than he did now.

“Hey kid, are you all right?”

Peter had known that Tony didn’t remember him anymore. He knew that as much as he knew that everyone else didn’t remember him; as he knew Aunt May, Ned, and all his old friends didn’t remember him. He knew that as he knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green.

And yet, somehow, it still hurt.

“… ey kid, I’m talking to you – are you all right? Did Greeny hurt you at all? Do you need me to get you to the hospital?”

Peter fought against the frozen muscles in his legs, and slowly edged himself back.

Iron Man’s mask folded back into the suit as he stepped forward, leaving Tony Stark’s face staring back into his own. He was wearing an expression so familiar to Peter, that it left his stomach feeling as though it had been punched once more.

“Yes, I know,” Tony said, an air of exasperation across his face, “it’s me, it’s Tony Stark – also known as the Great _Iron Man_. Though there was that one guy who called me the _Invincible Iron Man,_ once. I have to say, that has a pretty nice ring to it.”

Tony came to a stop in front of Peter, holding out his hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, kid. How about I take you to the hospital? They’ll make sure Greeny there didn’t leave any lasting damage. You look all right to me, but might be nice to get someone with a bunch of letters behind their name to be sure, right?”

It was the same Tony that Peter had come to know over the two years he had been with him; the same Tony that spoke so much you could barely get a word in edgewise, if at all. The one who made so many assumptions on everything you were doing and all that was going on, that you almost didn’t need to do anything at all. The only reason Peter had never been bothered by any of it was because he had a tongue that could could match Tony’s own.

But that was then. And this was now. And right now, he desperately wanted to run. To get as far away from Tony Stark and that deranged, green creature as he could.

A wave of exhaustion pressed at his temples, and Peter suddenly wanted nothing more than to be curled on his mattress against the corner of the wall in his attic, with nothing around him but silence.

Peter watched as the nonchalant look on Tony’s face began to fade, replaced with slightly furrowed brows and a small frown. Crouching down, Tony held out his hand. “Come on kid,” he said. “At least let me get you down from here. You don’t have to worry about Greeny – that last hit I gave him obviously messed with his hover-board; he’s probably off crashing into a courthouse somewhere. I doubt we’ll be seeing him any time soon.”

Peter was hooped, and he knew it. If he denied Tony and told him to leave, he would – at least in Tony’s eyes – be left stranded on a rooftop from which he shouldn’t have any way to get down. But if he accepted his help, if he got near him, if he got too close….

In the end, Tony made the decision for him.

“Sorry kid,” Tony said with a sigh, “but I’m a busy guy and I’ve got more than one place I need to be right now, so we’re just gonna go for a little ride, and….”

Tony picked Peter up, engaged his thrusters, and flew down to the ground, setting him on the sidewalk. “There.”

Peter, who’d barely had time to realise what was happening, could only blink and swallow, unsure if he should talk, if he should say thank you, or say anything, or –

“My scanners say you have no exceptional injuries, weirdly enough. If you can, though, you should get checked out just to be sure.”

Tony’s mask suddenly snapped back on, and he held his palms to the ground. “Try not to get caught in the middle of another fight with a deranged green-man, all right kid? See ya.”

And with that, Tony was gone.

Peter watched as he flew away, disappearing into the sky.

He could hear the sounds of people all around him, gasping and pointing as Tony flew away, talking rapidly to each other in excited voices at the unexpected appearance of _Iron Man._

Peter felt someone’s hand about to touch his shoulder and he snapped round, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. He could see the man’s lips moving, but he could barely make out his voice.

“ _Hey… ki… re… all ...ight?”_

Peter didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be far, far away from where he was, he wanted to run as fast as he could until there was no one else around him, run until he was completely by himself, until everyone else had been left behind.

So he ran.

He didn’t watch where he was going, he let his body move completely by rote. He swerved in and out of alleys, dodging dumpsters and avoiding people without even a blink of an eye. People shouted but he didn’t hear them; he ran and ran and ran until finally, he came to a stop.

He was in an enclosure, a small alcove of an alleyway, completely surrounded by buildings on all sides, save for the small, narrow gap in an upper corner that he had crawled through.

Peter was sucking in breaths as his heart raced a mile a minute, doing everything he could to keep himself from having a full-blown panic attack. He wasn’t paying attention to anything around him, only focusing on the pain in his head as his hands pulled at his hair, whispering nonsense words to himself, walking in circles over and over and over again as he fought to keep himself together, as he fought to keep himself from breaking down completely.

That creature knew who he was. That creature knew who Spider-Man was. Except he shouldn’t; he shouldn’t know a single thing about him – he shouldn’t know a single thing about the red and blue, web-swinging vigilante. He wasn’t supposed to remember. No one remembered, everyone had forgotten, so then why had – why had this guy –

God, he was tired.

It was like the time _After_ all over again. It was like he was back there, in those days and weeks and months after It happened, when he was realising the reality that he was now it, when he was realising what danger he was now in, what danger he was to others, that he couldn’t just go to May or Ned or Tony or anyone else because if he did that they would be in danger; if he tried to talk to them they would get hurt, if he tried to convince them of who he was and what had happened they would die, and he couldn’t – he couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t do that to them, to his friends, to his family, to millions of innocent people who had nothing to do with this and why – why couldn’t he just get his heart rate to slow down and stop beating faster and faster and faster until he couldn’t even breathe, and –

Peter sucked in a gasp of breath, his eyes wide as he realised that his heart beat wasn’t slowing down, and that he felt at any moment he would pass out, or –

Without warning, Peter was suddenly leaning over and puking onto the ground. He struggled to keep himself upright, but it suddenly felt like every muscle in his body was going weak, and he could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed, just barely missing the sick that lay beside him.

Peter gasped, sucking in breath as fast as he could. Was this a panic attack? It sort of felt like it, from the few in his life that he’d had. After his parents had died, after his dog had died, after Ben had died, after _It_ ….

Except… except why couldn’t he get himself back under control? And he never puked during a panic attack, that had never happened before… and his vision kept going dark, spots kept dancing in and out of his eyes, and there was a loud ringing in his ears, and –

Peter suddenly felt completely, and inexplicably exhausted, as though he had just run a thousand mile race on no sleep. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep himself awake, because he didn’t know what was happening and he didn’t like not knowing what was happening, especially after all that _had_ happened, now he needed to always know what was happening, he needed to be in control because if wasn’t then no one else would be, and… and….

Peter turned, falling onto his back and staring into the sky through half-lidded eyes, still trying to catch his breath, still trying to keep awake, because he wasn’t safe here – whatever was going on, this wasn’t a safe place to do it. He needed to be back in his attic, he needed to be back on his mattress, surrounded by four walls and a bed above him, with Aunt May in the kitchen cooking food and Uncle Ben setting up a game of Monopoly, and….

God, he was tired. Why was he so tired? It was the middle of the day, it was nowhere near bedtime, so why –

An image suddenly flashed through Peter’s mind, of when he and the Goblin were on the rooftop, and he had him by the throat and was grabbing his head and then some sort of mist came out, and –

Shit.

He’d completely forgotten about it. Everything had happened so fast, and then Tony was there, and –

Another wave of exhaustion fell over him, and Peter was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. The last thing he saw was the Goblin’s grinning mouth and his maniacal, horrible yellow eyes flashing before him, before everything finally went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo! Thanks for reading :)


	6. A Red Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to everyone who has taken the time to comment and leave kudos! I am so honoured and humbled by your response to this story - you guys are amazing!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Things are starting to heat up :)

He woke slowly. He wondered what day it was, and if he was late for school. Usually his alarm woke him, and if that didn’t work – which it often didn’t – then Aunt May would come in, knocking a few short times before opening the door, telling him to get his butt out of bed and go to school. If he got up at that point, he would get hot oatmeal and a heaping of brown sugar and juice. If he slept for another twenty minutes, he got a piece of toast and a shove out the door – but not without a kiss on the cheek, of course.

He wondered what it would be today. If this was just the first wake up call, or –

It was the tingling of his skin, followed by the distinct hum of multiple computers, that alerted him something was off.

Peter blinked a few times before he finally managed to open his eyes. It took him a moment, but eventually he realised that he was looking at the ground. And that the ground was white. Frowning, he lifted his head, his eyes taking in the pane of glass a few feet away from him. Looking round, Peter realised that the glass was surrounding him, from top to bottom. He was encased within it. The pieces started clicking into place.

Peter made to move his arms, only to be stopped. He looked down and saw that he was being held up by metal cuffs, which were locked to each of his wrists and legs. He could feel a wall behind him, icy cold against his back.

He didn’t have much time to question what was happening, as the thoughts he did have were interrupted by low, melodic voice:

“Hello Peter. It’s so nice to finally have the pleasure of your company.”

Peter blinked, frowning, willing his eyes to focus through the glass onto the blurry figure beyond. He blinked a few more times, before the person finally came into focus.

He had never seen the man before, of that he was certain. The lines across his face marked his age, though his brown hair only had a few streaks of grey. He looked quickly put together, as though he had just gotten out of bed, threw on a lab coat, and licked his hair back with his hand. Nonetheless, his eye were dark and his smile was wide.

A small, stout man stood beside him in a lab coat of his own, a slightly cowering, sniveling expression on his face. Staring at him, Peter couldn’t help but think – as cliché as it was – that he looked vaguely like a rat. He kept glancing between Peter and the man, a clipboard held tightly in one hand and a pen in the other. Peter’s stomach turned, a spark of worry suddenly shooting through his body.

Licking his lips, Peter looked back to the man, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “Who – who are you? Wh… where am I?”

The man gave a tight-lipped smile, as though the questions were beneath him but he still had to respond. “My name is not important. And I think it would be obvious where you are, Mister Parker.”

The voice crawled its way through Peter’s ears to the back of his mind and he blinked, then frowned, recognition slowly taking hold as faint laughter echoed in his ears. He stared at the man, his brows slowly narrowing into a frown. “You… you’re that guy. That green suit, the… the goblin.”

The man’s tight-lipped smiled pulled up into a grin. He started walking over to the desk filled with computers. “You’re a smart man, Mister Parker. Just like I thought you’d be.” He began clicking the mouse and Peter tried to lean forward, but the screen was turned and he couldn’t see what he was doing.

“What do you want with me?” Peter asked. He pulled at the chains around his wrists, and though they strained and creaked against his strength, they didn’t pull free. The man – the goblin – didn’t answer.

As Peter watched him, a suddenly more important question whispered in his mind. Flashes of memory of the man cackling the name Spider-Man went through his mind, and he suddenly realised that he had now been calling him by his real name – by Peter Parker.

He licked his lips again, staring at the man wide eyes, his tongue suddenly voicing his question before he could stop it: “How… how do you know who I am?”

The man finally finished what he was doing and looked up, a small smile on his face, but he said nothing.

Peter could feel his muscles tensing and he pulled against the restraints, the question suddenly needing an answer _now_. “How do you know me?!” he shouted. “Tell me! How do you know who I am?!”

The smaller, rat-like man scurried over to the computers and took a seat, moving his hands until they were just hovering above the keyboard. He kept them just above the keys and looked up, waiting.

Peter’s spidey-senses began tingling once more in the back of his neck, making its way down his back. Something was happening, he could feel it; but he didn’t know what.

The goblin started walking forward until he was just on the other side of the glass. He looked up at Peter with a smile. Peter stared back at him, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

The goblin continued to smile, though it never reached his eyes. “You’re a very important man, Peter Parker. Someone like you isn’t easy to forget.” The man’s eyes darkened as his smile slightly broadened. “Well, maybe that’s not so true….”

The man turned around and began walking back to the desk, cutting Peter off before he could speak. “You have something I want, Mister Parker. And I plan to take it now.”

Peter frowned, his brows furrowing together as he tried to think of what the hell the man could possibly be talking about. He watched as the goblin leaned over the smaller man’s shoulder, staring intently into the computer.

“Wh-what?” Peter asked. “You want… you want my powers?” It was the only thing he could think of, the only possible thing the goblin-man could want. “You want _Spider-Man_?”

At this the man looked up, his brows raised curiously. “Your powers as Spider-Man?” he repeated. He paused for a moment, before continuing. “Well yes, I suppose that is something to consider. Super-strength, increased senses, the ability to climb walls. Those could be useful. It’s not like we can replicate the spider that bit you; we never were able to find it. Perhaps we can set up a test trial in future….” The man trailed off, falling silent as he turned back at the computer.

Peter stared, confusion etched across his face. But that was the only thing he had; there was nothing else about him that they could possibly want. Aside from his powers as Spider-Man, he was only Peter Parker. He was just another human. He was no one.

After a few minutes of silence the goblin-man straightened and turned, looking up at Peter. “I’ll leave you in Doctor Stromm’s hands for now,” he said. “He will get you ready for tonight. I’ll see you then, Mister Parker.”

With that the man left the room, leaving Peter alone with only the other “doctor” for company.

Silence fell over the room, the clicking of the keyboard the only sound to be heard.

Peter didn’t know what to think. He felt as though he’d been hit by a tidal wave, thrown a million miles away and spun around faster and faster and faster, not knowing where he was or where he was going, only to be suddenly thrust back into the air and onto land he didn’t recognise at all.

These men knew who he was. They wouldn’t tell him how, or what they wanted with him, but they knew who he was.

_They knew who he was._

Not just as Peter Parker, whose records of existence were still buried somewhere within wires and clouds, but also as Spider-Man – whose records of existence shouldn’t exist at all. Peter had already tried looking for videos of him once on YouTube; all he got was a myriad of videos, from men chasing after and running from spiders, to people dressed up for Halloween as tarantulas and black widows. But not even a hint of a red and blue, web-slinging vigilante.

But these people – whoever they were – knew who Spider-Man was. They knew who _he_ was. And they knew _he_ was Spider-Man.

The knowledge made his stomach twist and his heart stop, in a way that sent a wave of nausea swirling through him and made him want to throw up.

For nearly two years he had thought he was alone; he had thought he’d been forgotten, he had thought everything and everyone from his old life was gone forever. But here, right in front of him, were two people who defied that logic, people who knew both his name and his alias. So that could only mean that everyone’s memories hadn’t all been taken, like he’d thought. There could be more people that remembered him… right?

If only the people who did know him weren’t trying to kill him.

After a long while Peter licked his lips and leaned forward. If he could talk to this wiry, rat-looking man, if he could get on his good side, then maybe – just maybe – he’d give something up, he’d tell Peter what he wanted so badly to know.

Peter opened his mouth, then stopped. He blinked.

What was he thinking? He’d been attacked – he’d been _kidnapped_ , for God’s sake. He should be trying to think of a way to escape, not trying to get someone to ponder on each of their favourite memories of him.

Peter bit his tongue and stayed still, wondering what on earth he should do next.

He had to escape, that much was obvious. They were clearly planning something for him, and being in this glass cage made him feel suspiciously like a lab rat.

Thanos aside, he’d never quite been in this situation before. Entirely alone, at the hands of lab-coated men who refused to let him go. Peter wracked his mind, but no matter how much he tried to think of a way to escape, he just couldn’t find one.

Peter tried to ignore the rising beat of his heart, the rush of adrenaline that was settling within him as panic began to rise. He looked down at his wrist and pulled, trying again to see just how much strength would be needed to break it. He strained his muscles, trying discreetly to pull as hard as he could. But the steel clasp held firm, and refused to do anything other than give a slight groan. Peter then tried his other wrist, then his legs, all to no avail.

“I wouldn’t waste my energy, if I were you.”

Peter’s head snapped up and he looked at the man – Doctor Stromm, the goblin had called him – who was still sitting in his seat. He wasn’t looking at Peter, continuing instead to stare at his computer with disinterested focus.

Peter licked his lips again, focusing on slowing the fast beat of his heart. He was trapped. He was well and truly trapped, and there wasn’t a single person in the entire world who knew he was here, who was wondering where he was, who was missing him.

Peter swallowed, clenching his fists. Damn it all, then. If he couldn’t get out, then he might as well try. He had nothing else to lose.

“How do you know who I am?” he finally asked. “You shouldn’t know who I am. No one else knows who I am. So… so how?”

Stromm’s eyes flickered up, settling on Peter for a moment before looking back down at the computer. “I would think it’s obvious, young man – my boss told me about you.”

Peter frowned, the excitement in him fading. Okay, so this guy didn’t actually know who he was from Before. But if he didn’t actually know who Peter Parker or Spider-Man were, then that meant the only one who did, was….

“To be honest, I was wondering why my boss wanted so badly to find you. As far as I’m aware, you’re just another kid who fell off the radar after he ran away from home.” The man sighed. “But after that meeting, my boss became obsessed with trying to find you. It took us awhile, but eventually we were able to track you down.

“It’s rather annoying, actually. We were working on a project that I was very interested in, and had put a lot of my effort into, I’m not ashamed to say. But I had to drop everything just like that, so that we could focus all our attention on you.”

Stromm looked up at Peter again, this time with a glare. “So if you’re wondering why you’re here, I’d save my breath. My boss never told me why he wanted you, but he pays me well so I’ve never asked. But I can certainly say that upon seeing you now, you don’t look the least bit special to me.”

Peter fought to keep the frown off his face, fought to keep himself emotionless, when the truth was… he knew he wasn’t special, either. So what on earth did the goblin-man want with him?

They fell into another long silence after that, only the hum of the computers and clacking of the keyboard the only things Peter could hear.

Perhaps they’d been mistaken. Perhaps they’d gotten the wrong guy. Perhaps….

But no. The man had said his name – he had said the name _Spider-Man_ , and in the minds of the people now, Spider-Man shouldn’t exist. He _didn’t_ exist. All records of Peter ended before the spider bite. So how…?

It was a question that bothered him for the rest of the night. A question that, no matter how hard he tried, Peter couldn’t find an answer to. The only answer he could think of was that somehow, some way, not everyone’s memories had been taken away. That somewhere, somehow, there were people that remembered him. That knew he had once existed.

But that contradicted everything he had come to know over the past near-two years. He had spent so many months searching for anything, for anyone, that might somehow know him, and he’d found nothing – no one.

He’d been so desperate at one point that he’d drop the name “Spider-Man” into conversations with others on the street, remarking that it was a good thing he wasn’t around anymore, or wondering where he might’ve gone. Everyone had only given him weird looks, some bluntly stating they thought he was insane, others hinting that they thought he was high. After a while it became painfully clear that no one, at least no one on the streets, had any knowledge of who Spider-Man was.

-

The muscles in Peter’s arms and legs ached, begging for release after having stood for so long. It had to have been hours by this point, though he couldn’t say how many. The shackles dug into his skin as Peter relaxed, but he couldn’t help it; exhaustion was taking hold.

“Don’t worry,” Stromm said lightly, obviously having noticed Peter’s discomfort. “Boss will be down shortly.”

“Then what?” Peter asked, annoyance laced in his voice. He was getting sick of this. “We’re gonna sing together? We’re gonna sit around the campfire and make smores?”

Stromm looked up, a brow slightly raised. “Hardly. Boss has more important things to do than that.”

“And what important things are that?”

“Why my dear Mister Parker, they are far more important than you could possibly know.”

Peter’s head snapped up and he watched as the goblin-man walked into the room, a smile on his face.

Peter instinctively moved forward, anger now bubbling beneath his veins. “Why do you want me?!” he yelled. “Why am I here?! Just let me go! Just let me _fucking_ go –.”

“Ah ah ah,” the man interrupted. “We’ll have none of that now. Did your parents teach you to use such language?”

“My parents are dead,” Peter spat.

“Yes, they are,” the man shot back, his smile suddenly gone. “Which is a good thing, really. I don’t think they would want to see what’s become of their one and only child. They would be so ashamed to see you sleeping in sewer drains and diving through dumpsters.”

Peter balked back, staring at the man with wide, angry eyes. How could they – had they been –

“Yes that’s right. We’ve been watching you for a while, now, Mister Parker. It took us a long time to track you down, but in the end it was a success. But you needn’t worry; you’ll soon be back on the streets again with the rest of the useless degenerates. We just need to get one thing from you, and then we’ll send you on your way.”

“You want my powers,” Peter stated. Part of him screamed and fought against the idea of his powers being taken away from him, of losing what had become such an instinctual and intrinsic part of his life. But then, really, what did it matter? It wasn’t like he was using them anymore anyway; and if meant getting out of here, if it meant being freed, then….

“Didn’t we already talk about this?” the goblin-man huffed. “I don’t care about your little _spider_ _abilities_. Besides, they are so greatly ingrained within you now as to be no more different than the rest of your DNA. Trying to remove them would damage you beyond repair to the point that it may as well kill you. And we’re not after that today, I’m afraid.”

Peter couldn’t be more confused than he was now. If the man was telling the truth, if he really wasn’t after his powers, then what was it he could possibly want? What was it that he thought Peter had? He was an underage kid living on the streets – he had nothing.

As though reading his mind, the man smiled. It was starting to grate on Peter’s nerves. “You’re special, Mister Parker. You’re very special indeed. You have something that many people will want; which is why I’m taking it first.”

Peter could only stare in utter, angry bewilderment. There was only one possible answer to any of this.

“You’re insane,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You’re completely insane.”

“Some people have called me that, I will admit,” the man said. “But those people who called me that are now dead. It’s a shame I can’t say the same will be for you, as you are starting to prove an annoying little bug, but as I’ve said, you’re just far too important right now for that.”

The man turned and walked over to another desk, where a glass box sat on top. He opened it up and took out a small, stoppered jar, which was filled with red liquid. Peter watched guardedly as he walked towards him, where another container sat hooked against the cage. He opened it up, pulling out the stopper with a small “pop” and slotted the jar inside, closing the door afterwards.

Peter’s neck tingled, and he knew that his spidey-senses – as haywire as they had been these last five and some hours – was warning him, telling him to be on guard, to prepare; that something was going to happen, and it wouldn’t be good.

The chamber began to groan, the sounds of bangs and moving gears echoing like an ominous shadow moving in the dark. Without warning the metal plank that Peter had been held upright against jerked, and Peter began to move until he was laying fully on his back and staring at the top of the glass above him.

He tried to lift his head and chest, but the moment he did, four iron straps appeared out of the board, moving towards each other until they met and became one. Two met across his chest, while the others met just above his forehead. He tried to move, to raise his head again and look at the two men through the glass, but every attempt was stopped by the metal binds.

His heart suddenly began to beat painfully in this chest. A wave of claustrophobia that Peter didn’t know he had suddenly washed over him, panicked adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins.

Whereas he had been angry and defiant before, Peter was now terrifyingly afraid.

His ears twitched as he listened to the sound of footsteps getting louder and louder, before a door – the door to the chamber – was opened, its hinges screeching painfully in Peter’s ears. The footsteps drew closer until at last the man’s – the goblin’s – face appeared over him, his eyes crinkled in a smile above the medical mask that now covered his mouth.

“Now don’t worry, my young man – there is nothing to truly be afraid of. I’m just going to be making a rather, shall we say, _small_ incision just a little ways below your clavicle. After I get what I need, Doctor Stromm will stitch you right back up and send you on your merry little way. Does that sound good?”

The sound of his blood was now rushing in his ears, as true-panic dug its claws into his muscles and mind, leaving him completely frozen in place. It wasn’t until the shimmer of light off a scalpel flashed in his eyes did the ice break, and Peter was suddenly thrashing against the binds, trying anything he could to get out, get out, _get out._

“N-no, please! Please, don’t – please I’ll do – I’ll do whatever you want, just stop! STOP!”

The blade stopped right above the skin of Peter’s chest, hovering like a snake moments before it it was about to strike.

“Torture isn’t exactly in my repertoire,” the man said with a sigh. “I have a son about your age, and it gives me no good feeling to do this. But from my estimations, the success of the extraction will be higher if you are conscious. So this is the way it must be. From what I’ve been told, you’re a man of science yourself; so surely you can appreciate the need for these parameters, don’t you agree?”

With crinkled eyes, the man brought the blade down.

Peter screamed.

* * *

He was under water.

At least, that was what it felt like. A pressure pushed against him on all sides, rippling against his skin, brushing across his face. It surrounded him, but not in a horrid way like being in the chamber. No. Rather, it felt as though it were keeping him still; as though it were holding him in a warm grasp. Light enough so that he didn’t feel trapped; but tight enough that he couldn’t escape, either.

He opened his eyes.

Everything was dark; it were as though he was standing in nothing. But he had been in space before; he knew what it was like to stand in its darkness, far from the light of the sun. Yet somehow, this didn’t feel like that. This was different. This darkness was _something_ ; it wasn’t nothing. It had a form; the darkness was something physical in and of itself. It moved all around him, watching him, following him. It was alive, it was sentient, it was thinking.

And yet for all this _Being_ was, there was something it was not:

Frightening.

For some reason which Peter couldn’t figure out, he wasn’t afraid. The senses that had always whispered in the back of his mind, that had always ran a cold finger down his neck whenever something was wrong, whenever there was danger – it instead did the opposite now. Now when his mind was frightened and didn’t have a clue what was happening, his spidey-senses whispered that everything was okay, that somehow, someway, this.. this _Being_ – whatever it was – wasn’t here to hurt him. That if anything, it was protecting him.

But how could that be?

A light suddenly appeared far off in front of him, piercing through the darkness like molten steel through ice.

Peter flinched, surprised, and made to move his arms in front of his face, when a voice suddenly echoed through the air. It said only three, simple words, that echoed around and reverberated through him like a drum:

“ _You will understand.”_

Peter stared at the light, his eyes wide as he struggled to find words, any words, to say anything to the Being, to ask what it was, to ask where he was, to ask –

The sound of a rushing water suddenly filled his ears and a roaring wind slammed into him, forcing him to shut his eyes and try to keep himself from falling over, to keep from being buried completely underneath its weight, and –

A pain unlike any other he’d ever felt erupted in the middle of his chest, and Peter instinctively looked down as his hands began clawing at it, trying to get rid of the pain, to stop whatever was happening, to –

A ragged line began to appear, jaggedly making its way between his breast and down towards his sternum. Light shone out from under it, as though the sun were beneath and trying to get out. Peter watched with terror-filled eyes as the light shone brighter and brighter, almost blinding him.

Something within him started to cry out, and Peter suddenly knew that whatever was happening, needed to stop; that whatever was in there couldn’t be let out.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter wrapped his arms across his naked shoulders, and squeezed as hard as he could.

He began to shake, harder and harder until he felt as though his entire body was going to explode. Pain began searing through his chest again, before reaching through the rest of his body, leaving him feeling as though he were burning from the inside out.

Noise began to reach his ears, the sounds of computers screeching and people shouting. He caught pieces of words, each barely strung together, each barely comprehensible: _“...un! ...et to th… achine! … off! OFF! ...ive… th… serum… ive th ...erum!”_

Peter blinked rapidly, the images of glass and the sound of computers going haywire suddenly hitting his senses, crashing over them with the force of a tidal wave. When Peter finally managed to quit blinking and focus, all he could see was red.

*** ***

He could see the man above him, that damned goblin that had dragged and put him here in the first place. He was shouting, yelling at someone – his assistant, Stromm, who must’ve been in the other room – and looking far more frantic than Peter had yet to see him.

“Gas him!” the goblin yelled. He abandoned his post by Peter’s side, running through the glass chamber until he was on the other side, slamming the door shut behind him.

A red, noxious gas began pouring into the chamber, filling it up entirely until Peter could see nothing else.

It entered his nose and his mouth, filling his lungs until he was suffocating. He bucked, his body smashing against the iron bonds that held him down.

Only one single thought ran through his mind: he had to get out of here. He had to get out of here, he had to get out of here, he had to _get out get out_ _ **get out**_ _._

He coughed, gasping as he tried to take back his breath.

Then suddenly, as though someone had hit the mute button, everything went silent.

Strength poured through him like kerosene, roaring through his veins like fire. Energy started filling him, feeding his senses, more and more until he could hear the clicking of buttons three floors above him and could smell each and every scent of every man and object in the room.

The incessant screeching of the computers as they sounded in alert began to grate in Peter’s ears, and finally he’d had enough. He wanted out, and he wanted out _now_.

Pushing against the steel restraints across his wrist, the metal snapped off, flying forward and embedding itself with the chamber’s glass. He did the same with his other wrist, then with his legs, and lastly with the binds around his chest and forehead, until every one of them was either laying across the floor or in the now-shattered glass.

Relief suddenly poured through his as he stepped forward. Free, he was finally _free_.

Now he needed to get out.

Just as Peter started moving towards the door, the door suddenly slammed open, the goblin-man standing on the other side. His eye were wide and manic with anger, his chest heaving as he stared at Peter.

“How – how are you –,” the man spluttered, his face red. The mania in his eyes abated a small bit, as a silent fury took over. “No. No, I won’t let you go. You’re mine, now – I found you. It may not have worked the first time but we can try again, we can try again, and –.”

Peter had had enough. He was no one’s prisoner, and he was certainly no one’s science experiment.

As though sensing what he was about to do, the goblin moved first and lunged at him, grabbing Peter’s wrist with a sickening crunch. He threw Peter down with an inhuman strength, sending them crashing into the side of the glass, but he didn’t let go. They struggled for a few moments, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Peter had thought the suit was what had given the goblin his strength, but he was wrong. Whatever this man was, he was not completely human. Whether he was like Peter or was some other creature entirely, he didn’t know – and Peter didn’t care to find out.

As they continued to struggle, the goblin’s hand managed to slip its way out of Peter’s grasp and took hold of his neck, squeezing as hard as he could.

A sudden and terrifying anger swelled up within him, and Peter saw red.

Letting go of the goblin’s shoulders, Peter grabbed hold of the man’s hands and ripped them off his neck. Lifting his knees, Peter shoved his legs beneath the goblin and kicked.

The goblin went flying across the chamber, the force sending him straight through the glass with a loud crash. But the momentum didn’t end, not until he had landed on the floor, sliding on his back until he crashed into the computer desk. He started to get back up, to regain his footing, but Peter wouldn’t give him that chance.

Peter stayed crouched against the broken glass for only a moment before he leaped forward, nearly flying through the air as he ran and collided with the goblin, sending them both careening across the floor. They struggled until Peter was finally sitting on top of him, his hands wrapped around the man’s neck.

Everything he saw was coloured with red. The man began to gasp, clawing at Peter’s chest, his arms, his face. Even though he was clearly losing, the man was still angry, he was still defiant. The look on his face made Peter want to punch him straight across it.

He hated that face. He hated that face so damned much; his manic eyes, the lines on his cheeks, the stupid, smug grin across his lips. He _hated_ it. He hated it so much, he just wanted to bury it. He wanted to cover it, to smother it, to make it so he would never have to see that face again.

Without thinking, Peter let his right hand go off the man’s neck and instead spread it over his face. He pushed and he pushed hard, his fingers clenching into the man’s skin as he thought nothing more than of ending this stupid, murderous, horrible man’s life.

His wrist grew hot, the muscles twisting painfully, and a second later a webbed string began shooting from it. It danced and wove beneath his hand and fingers and onto the man’s face, spreading and building faster and faster, until his face was completely covered beneath it.

Just a little more. Just a little more and it would be too much for him to get off, too much for him to rip open and breathe. He would suffocate and die, and New York would no longer have to deal with a green, grenade-throwing maniac. Just a little bit more, and –

A shot rang out, the sound of the bang clashing like thunder through his ears, startling him. In the next half-second he felt a hot, searing pain tear through his shoulder. He was knocked off his feet, landing on his side beside the now-struggling goblin, who was grasping weakly at the webs around his face.

A fresh wave of anger crashed over him and Peter stood to his feet, his narrowed eyes glaring at Stromm, who was standing on the other side of the room, a gun held in his hand and pointed towards Peter.

Without waiting another moment, Peter held his hand forward towards Stromm. A web shot out and flew towards him; it hit the gun in his hand and Peter immediately grabbed hold of the web, whipping it to the side. The gun ripped out of Stromm’s hands and flew across the room, crashing into the side of the wall and breaking into pieces. Stromm, now completely defenseless, looked up at Peter with wide, terrified eyes, his hands held up in the weakest attempt of surrender.

Peter wanted to go after him. The anger that was still coursing through his veins urged him to run forward, to shoot him wrap him up until he was completely covered, until the webbing around his face and body completely suffocated him to death –

The searing hot pain in his shoulder began making itself known once more and Peter flinched, his arm faltering in front of him. The strength and energy that he’d had moments before was beginning to wane, and all Peter could now focus on was the burning fire in his shoulder.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to stop this pain, to get the burning iron out. If he waited any longer, he would no longer have the upper hand.

Turning round, Peter’s eyes shot rapidly around the room until they landed on the door. Ignoring everything else, Peter ran to the door and pulled, wrenching it completely off its hinges. He threw it to the side and continued on. He ran through the hallways, his feet leading his mind as instinct took over. In a few moments he saw a door with an exit sign above it. He ran towards it, slamming it open and stumbling out onto a dark and empty street. He had no clue where he was, but that didn’t matter – he only knew what he had to do:

Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a kudo or comment! Knowing you guys are interested in reading more is what honestly keeps me writing :) Thank you!


	7. Realisations

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in….

Breathe in….

Breathe in….

Breathe _in –_

Peter slammed his fist against his chest.

– breathe out….

He repeated the mantra for another ten minutes, doing everything he could to slow his heart beat from one hundred and eighty beats per minute, back to its regular ninety-five. How did he know that it was exactly one-hundred and eighty – now seventy-six – beats per minute? Because he had counted them – because he could hear every single beat of his own heart in a way that he never could before, his ears taking note of every little movement of his heart, of his right atrium moving blood into his right ventricle; of his left atrium moving blood into his left ventricle; of his lungs expanding and detracting, of the little heartbeat in the cat fifteen feet away from him, of the lady singing in the shower on the third floor two blocks away, of the hundreds upon hundreds of feet hitting the cement as they walked on the streets all around him, of the cry of a bird a hundred feet above him, of people shouting and talking and yelling and screaming and –

One-hundred and ninety-five.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Peter didn’t know how far he’d run or even where he now was. All he knew was that it felt as though someone had taken his ears and set their volume intake all the way to the 100 and beyond, breaking the dial and now bringing in thousands of sounds he’d never been able to hear before.

The thing was that it wouldn’t stop; everything – all these noises, this conglomerate of chaos – it wouldn’t let down. He was trying everything he could think of to ignore them, to mute them out like he’d learned to do when he’d first gotten the bite, but none of it worked. It was all happening too fast. Any attempts he made to stop them were interrupted by another noise, another scream, another car horn, another heartbeat, another –

“Hey kid, you all right?”

Peter jumped, his head snapping up and his eyes wide, startled. It was then that he realised that he was sitting on the ground with his back against a wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands were still around his ears, his fingers digging into his skin and twisting through his hair.

A thin, drug-pocked woman was looking down at him, a scarf around her neck and an over-sized coat hanging off her shoulders. She was looking down at him warily, but also with concern. A tall man stood beside her, as equally skinny and bedraggled; drug addicts, Peter’s mind whispered. He was trying to pull the woman away, but she only took a few steps before stopping again.

“He’s high,” the man said, waving his hand dismissively. “Forget about him, let’s just go.”

“Maybe we should call someone,” the woman said, looking back at Peter uncertainly.

“He’s just havin’ a bad trip, he’ll come out of it. Let ‘im be.”

Still, the woman hesitated. The man finally let her go and started walking without her, huffing angrily. The woman stared at Peter a moment longer, before walking quickly over to him and crouching down. “Here,” she said, reaching into her coat. She pulled out a half-eaten loaf of bread and set it down in front of him. He tried to focus on her voice, but he could barely make it out amongst the rest of the clang and clamour that was ricocheting through his ears.

He watched as the woman reached into her coat again and this time pulled out a couple of cigarettes, and a lighter. “There’s not much left in it,” she said, nodding at the zippo, “but I found another one that’s completely full, and it’s much bigger, and… well….” The woman swallowed, looking up at Peter with a small smile. “It’ll take the edge off, when you have bad trips. At least it does for me.”

Peter didn’t say anything, he could only continue to stare at the woman with wide eyes, his hands still over his ears.

The woman waited one more moment, before giving him a last smile and standing back up. “I hope you feel better soon.” She ran back over to the man, who was waiting for her impatiently at the alleyway’s edge. With one last glance towards Peter, the two disappeared.

Peter stared after them for a long moment, before eventually looking down at the small bundle the woman had left behind. He slowly picked up the piece of bread, brushing off the dirt and flecks of snow that had gathered on it. As though his stomach had just woken up at the smell of food, he was suddenly ravenously hungry. In a matter of seconds he had shoved the bread into his mouth and swallowed it all.

The bread, however, seemed to only have fed the realisation that he was starving, and Peter was left feeling even more hungry than before.

The noises in his ears still clamoured to be heard, but Peter finally had something else to focus on. He had to find food, and he had to find it _now_.

He stood to his feet, his knees wobbling as he did. It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t remember when he had sat down in that spot, or how long he had been there. As he moved his foot, something moved in the corner of his eye, and Peter looked down to the see the two cigarettes and lighter that the woman had left him.

Peter stared at them for a long moment, before leaning down and picking them up. Her words echoed in the back of his mind, and not knowing what else to do with them, he put them in his pocket.

Now he just had to find food.

* * *

It was cold.

Peter shivered as the north wind bit angrily into his skin, and he rubbed his hands against his bare arms. Everyone around him was looking at him as though he were mad – and he supposed he was. Somehow winter had fully arrived without him realising it, and he hadn’t been ready. The jacket he’d worn the last two years was still tucked away in an alcove in the ceiling of his attic – he’d learned you had to hide things, even when you thought they were safe – and at the moment, he had no clue where that attic – or even that street – was.

He’d gone to seven separate food places already – restaurants, bakeries, fast food joints – asking if they had anything they could give him, but each of them had either firmly said no, or had all but thrown him back outside. He’d started going through dumpsters again, trying to smell if anything was there, searching for anything he could find – he was just so, _so_ hungry, he didn’t think he had ever been as hungry as this before – but he had only found a few more pieces of bread and a bag of leftovers even he couldn’t identify.

He’d have to beg. There was no other choice. He’d have to literally go up to people with his palms open in front of him, begging for food. Pleading for them to give just an inch of kindness, hoping that even just one person in dozens would give him enough money for a couple burgers, or a full loaf of bread.

He didn’t want to. He had only had to do it two other times, and both had been miserable and humiliating experiences. He had vowed to do everything in his power never to have to do that again. But right now, it didn’t seem like he had any other choice.

The first person he approached – a woman, appearing to be in her forties – was on her cellphone. He had hoped that maybe her distraction would make it easier for her to give him something, even if it was just to make him go away. But as soon as she caught his eye she frowned, then stepped away, quickly melting into the sea of people as they walked away.

Peter swallowed, taking a moment to steel himself, then tried again.

The next person had been the same, and the next one after that. The third one he’d managed to whisper out a quiet plea, asking the man if he had any spare change. The man – also on his cellphone – gave a look of disgust as he shook his head. “Sorry George,” Peter heard him say as he walked away, “some street junkie is asking for money…. No, he looks like shit. Probably still high on some drugs of who-knows-what. Now what were you saying…?”

Peter stared after the man for a moment, his hands still outstretched, before he finally blinked through the now-falling snow and turned back round. Time to try again.

He continued for another fifteen minutes, but he didn’t make a single dime. He was surprised; he thought at least one person out of the dozens he had asked would have given him something, but it seemed as though people’s hearts were as cold as the air.

He had to go somewhere else. He had to find another street to panhandle on, and hope that maybe the people there would be better. He’d have to do it soon, because if didn’t find something to eat he thought he might actually pass out. The hunger had started clawing even deeper against his insides, his muscles twisting and cramping in protest, his body demanding – needing – something that he just couldn’t give it.

Maybe he should start looking for a soup kitchen, or a shelter, except that he still didn’t know where he was – the sky was overcast and low clouds, he couldn’t make out the tops of the buildings. He didn’t even know the time of day or even the day of the week, and whether or not the soup kitchens would even be open, or – or –

“Peter?”

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin as the low, familiar voice rang out above the rest of the noise of the people that were around him. He spun around and came face to face with Joe, who was staring at him in bewilderment, as though he couldn’t really believe what he was seeing.

“It is you! Peter, what – what’s going on?”

Peter blinked rapidly, trying to take in the realisation that Joe – someone he knew – was actually standing in front of him.

“J-Joe,” Peter finally managed to say. “I… I….”

Joe stared at Peter a few moments longer, his eyes looking him up and down. In those few moments a decision seemed to have been made, as the confusion in the man’s eyes disappeared, and was replaced with a resolved determination. “Come on son,” he said, reaching out and taking Peter’s arm, “let’s get you out of the cold and somewhere warm, okay?”

Peter took a few steps, then faltered, coming to a stop. “Um, J-Joe?” he said. His teeth were starting to chatter. “I-I’m really… I’m r-really hungry….”

Joe stared at him for a brief moment, before giving a nod. “All right, we’ll stop by McDonald’s on the way back.”

Peter followed the bigger man for a few blocks, until they eventually came to a McDonald’s. Joe bought them both a few burgers – and a few burgers more, at the look on Peter’s face – with some fries and drinks. Unable to stop himself, Peter had already started eating one of them before they’d even left the building.

They came to an entrance way for the subway and began walking down the steps. They sat on the train for twenty-some minutes, before eventually departing and walking back up the steps and into the frigid air once more. After that they walked only a few more blocks until they arrived at an apartment complex. Seven floors up and a walk down the hallway, and they had arrived.

Joe opened the door and they walked inside.

“Honey,” he called out as he closed the door behind them, “I’m back.”

“Hey hun,” a woman’s voice called out. Peter heard footsteps coming closer and closer until a woman appeared in the kitchen. “Did you pick the groceries for toni –.” She stopped in her tracks, her voice trailing off as her eyes fell on Peter.

Peter was suddenly very aware that he was standing in nothing but a torn and ragged shirt and jeans, holding a crumpled paper bag of half-eaten fast food in his hands. He could feel his heart begin to beat a little faster as the woman stared at him in stunned silence, her eyes flickering between him and Joe. He scratched at his wrist nervously.

“Joseph, honey,” she said, her voice deceptively light. “Who is this?”

“Hello Martha,” Joe replied, taking his shoes off. “This is Peter. He’s going to be staying with us for a little while.”

Martha’s eyes continued to switch between Peter and her husband, her back straight and her mouth set in a small, tight smile. “Oh,” she said. “Okay then. Well why don’t… why don’t you both just come inside then? Just take off your shoes and…” her eyes looked down at Peter’s bare feet, and she swallowed. “… and come inside.”

The food that Peter had eaten had pushed back the hunger and fog that had settled in his head, and he began to realise just what kind of situation he was in.

He shouldn’t be here. How had he come to be here? He had never meant to actually come to Joe’s home. It had all just happened so fast, and….

Guilt washed over him. He was an intruder, an interloper, a clearly unwanted stray that had been brought home to unwilling hosts. He should excuse himself, he should leave, he should turn around and walk right back out that door, and….

Except that he was warm. And he had food in his belly, with the promise of more. And he was sheltered, in an actual, heated apartment, and not the cold, damp room of a forgotten attic –

“Just follow me, Peter.”

Joe’s voice interrupted his thoughts and Peter blinked. He stood for a moment longer before following Joe into the rest of the apartment.

They came to a living room and Joe sat Peter down on one of the couches. “Here,” he said, passing him a blanket. “Warm yourself up. I’m just gonna go talk to the missus for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Peter watched as Joe left and disappeared into the hallway. He heard a door shut a moment later.

These were times that Peter wished he didn’t have the hearing that he did. He would much rather have just sat wrapped up in a warm blanket, doing anything else but listening in on someone else’s conversation.

Usually he could focus his hearing, could mute out the unwanted voices and things that he didn’t want to hear, but for some reason today he just couldn’t do it. For some reason his ears just wanted to pick up every single noise that could be heard, and he would have to hear it whether he wanted to or not. He scratched his arm, trying to ignore them as best he could.

“ _Well?”_ he heard Martha say. _“What on earth is all this about?”_ Peter could hear her heartbeat rise, and he could sense the rising anger that was heating her skin.

“ _Now Martha,”_ Joe said cautiously. _“Don’t get upset. His name is Peter, and –.”_

“‘ _Don’t get upset’,”_ Martha repeated. _“That’s what you have to tell me? Don’t get upset? Why would I be upset,_ _Robbie_ _? Why would I be upset that there is some strange boy in my home, who’s wearing nothing but a shirt and jeans in the middle of November? Who looks as though he’s been run over by a truck? Who looks like he’s just finished doing another round of drugs, and –.”_

Peter listened as they continued to argue for another five minutes, Joe arguing in his defense as Martha panicked that he was a drug addict. He turned his head away, trying to ignore them as best he could.

There was a silence, followed by a frustrated huff. The woman’s heartbeat had begun to slow down, and the heat in her body had started to ebb. _“All right.,”_ she said. Peter heard movement and the turning of a doorknob. _“I’ll make him some food. I know he just ate, but I know what a hungry boy looks like, and this one looks like he’d eat my furniture if he could.”_

The door opened and Peter listened as footsteps walked down the hallway, before Martha appeared in the living room, the smile on her face still uncomfortably forced. She gave him a brief nod before moving into the kitchen.

He sat in silence, listening to the clang and clatter of pots and pans as Martha began to make food.

A moment later Joe walked back into the living room, a fresh pair of clothes on and a smile on his face. “Hey Peter,” he said, sitting down on a chair across from him. “How you feelin’? Any better?”

Peter was quiet for a moment – it was difficult to gather his words, for some reason – before responding. “Yes, I… I’m feeling better, thank you.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment, before forcing his smile back onto his face. “So… what have you been up to, lately?”

Peter frowned, scratching at his arms as he began to think about the question.

Now that he thought of it, where _had_ he been? How had he ended up in the alley like that, cold and shivering and beyond starving? How had he strayed so far from his attic? How had he managed to get so lost? In fact, he was pretty sure he still didn’t know exactly where he was. Usually he was so hyper-attentive, always aware of where he was, what street he was on, what district he was in. Why was it all of a sudden so difficult to –

“Peter?”

Peter’s eyes snapped back up to Joe, who was looking at him with poorly disguised concern. “Um, I… it’s been hard to, uh….” Peter swallowed, his mouth speaking whatever words that came to his mind. “It’s been hard to find food, lately, for some… for some reason. I was hungry. I was really…. I was really hungry.”

“Okay, well, then… what were you doing so far from home? I thought you said you usually stayed in the same area in Manhattan. What were you doing all the way out in Queens?”

“I –.”

Yellow flashed behind his eyes and Peter faltered, his tongue stumbling to a stop.

Images appeared before him every time he blinked. Two men, a white room, glass all around him. Fear. He had been afraid. But of what? Why would he have… what were they doi –

A blinding flash of pain broke behind his eyes and Peter keeled forward, grabbing his head with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Peter! Peter what’s wrong, what’s –.”

“Nothing,” Peter ground out between clenched teeth. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come and he sat back, blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out if he were okay. He sat straight in the chair and put his hands down, looking up at Joe. Seeing his worried face, Peter quickly shook his head. “I’m fine, really. Just a bad headache, that’s all.”

Joe stared at him as though trying to determine whether or not Peter was actually telling the truth. Seeming to accept Peter’s argument, he started to get up. “Well here, why don’t you go lay down for a while? If you want to, that is. You look… you look tired.”

If what he looked like was anything near what he felt like, then tired was a light way of putting it. Suddenly wanting nothing more than silence and to be alone, Peter nodded.

Joe led him to a room at the back of the apartment. Inside there was a single bed, a dresser at it’s foot and a desk on the other side of the room. Joe led Peter to the bed and sat him down. “Get some rest,” he said, walking back to the door. “Martha will have supper ready in an hour. We can talk about things then.”

Peter nodded and watched as Joe closed the door, listening to his footsteps as he walked down the hall and back into the kitchen. Thankfully, this time he and his wife didn’t talk, and Peter was left with silence.

Peter leaned back against the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and pressing the palms of his hands against his temples. God, but did his head hurt. He felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer to it and hadn’t stopped.

His thoughts turned back to questions of what had happened before he’d woken up in the alley. Again, images of men in lab-coats and glass walls all around him flashed in front of him and Peter squeezed his eyes even harder, trying to push back the pounding headache that was beating through his skull. Eventually he laid down, curling into himself as he fought to keep breathing against the pain.

He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, only that one moment it had been light outside, and the next it was completely dark. His nose twitched, picking up the smell of vegetables and meat. Looking over he saw a plate of peas, chicken, and potatoes sitting on the bedside table. Without even really thinking he sat up and reached over, huffing the food down his throat as he scooped it into his mouth.

In minutes he was done, and for once the seemingly endless hunger that had been clawing at his insides seemed to have been – at least, momentarily – quelled.

But his headache still remained.

Peter scratched his arms then brought his hands to his head once more, this time digging his fingers into his eyes before moving them to his temples. As he pressed his palms against his cheeks, he slowly became aware that they were wet.

 _Great,_ Peter thought angrily as he started to move his hands to wipe the tears away. _N_ _ow I’m crying. Everything aches, my head hurts, I don’t know what the hell is going on and my stupid wrists won’t stop itching. Is this what girls feel like, when…._

Peter’s thoughts trailed off as he realised that the tears weren’t drying away. In fact, they were only spreading across his face. Frowning, Peter took the edge of his shirt and brought it up, wiping it across his cheek and –

Something white reflected in his eyes and he stopped what he was doing. Slowly he pulled the shirt down and he watched in growing confusion as multiple, goo-like strings pulled away from his face.

Peter stared at them for a long moment in the moonlight, unsure what they were.

These weren’t tears. These were definitely not tears. But then what… what were they…?

Peter went to touch them with his other hand, but doing so only made them spread further. He let the shirt go, expecting it to fall back down against his chest, but it didn’t. Whatever was on his shirt was now sticking to it, and sticking to his hands, as well. He started pulling at the goo – at the _strings_ , he began to realise as he pulled at them, they were like sticky strings – but pulling at them only entangled them further together.

What the hell?

He tried wiping them across his shirt, but this only furthered the mess. Without warning his wrists began to feel as though they were on fire and Peter swore, automatically moving his fingers to start scratching once more on his arms. Finally he managed to lean over and turn on the bedside lamp.

The soft light lit up the area around him, finally showing Peter what was going on. His eyes grew wide, and he could only stare in stunned, shocked silence.

The strings – or whatever they were – were bleeding from his wrists. The skin was red and inflamed from where he’d been constantly scratching, and upon closer inspection he could make out two holes on each arm, where the translucent, silver goo was eking out, gathering on his skin like pools of blood.

Peter shot out of the bed and stood to his feet, his heart beginning to beat faster as panic began to rise.

He wanted it off. Whatever it was, he wanted it off. He wanted it off, he wanted it off, he wanted it _off_. He frantically began wiping his wrists against his shirt, but the silver goo just kept on coming. The pain in his wrists started intensifying, and Peter began digging his fingernails into the skin around the holes, wanting it out, to get it out, _get it out!_

Finally, as the string-like goo began to gather on the floor, Peter wrapped his fingers around his wrist and squeezed.

The throbbing stopped.

Peter stared at his arm as the endless stream finally came to an end. After a long moment he slowly let go, making sure the… bleeding… didn’t re-start, before doing the same to his other wrist.

Peter stared at the mess that was left on the ground with wide, horrified eyes. What the hell had just happened?

After a few, deep breaths, Peter brought the substance close to his face.

As he had thought before, they were like strings. They were long, gooey, and sticky, refusing to let go of anything they touched. They looked oddly familiar, the way they twined into one another, almost like they were….

A chill went up Peter’s spine.

Almost like they were webs.

That’s what they looked like. They looked like webs. They looked like _spider_ -webs. They looked like the spider-webs that he had tried to replicate when he’d first been bitten, when he’d first gotten his powers, and –

But how? How could this possibly be? How could he just suddenly have these coming out of his arms? How could – why – when did –

“ _You’re special, Mister Parker. You’re very special indeed. You have something many people will want; which is why I’m taking it first.”_

_A red, noxious gas began pouring into the chamber, filling it up entirely until Peter could see nothing else. It entered his nose and his mouth, filling his lungs until he was suffocating. He bucked, his body smashing against the iron bonds that held him down, the iron cracking under the pressure, and –_

The Goblin.

The memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, crashing over him and leaving him with barely any room to breathe.

It was the Goblin. The Goblin had attacked him – had _kidnapped_ him; he had brought him back to his laboratory – his cage – and had strung him up, had spoke endless monologues about powers and things that he wanted, about things that Peter didn’t have, about things he was certain Peter _did_ have, so certain that he was willing to tie him down and take a knife and cut him open and –

He had escaped. He didn’t know how, but he had escaped. He’d finally managed to break through the binds that were holding him down and smashed through the glass, throwing the man – the Goblin – across the floor, and….

He’d been shot.

Peter’s hand snapped to his shoulder and he pulled the edge of shirt down. His eyes widened.

Angry, red skin surrounded a hole that sat a few inches below where his shoulder met his collarbone. Skin had started to form around it in an attempt to heal, but it was clear that there was still something in there. It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed it before now. How he could have possibly been walking and moving around without screaming in pain, was beyond him. How on earth had he managed to get _shot_ , and why hadn’t more –

Another image flashed behind his eyes, and Peter blinked.

The rat – Doctor Stromm – had shot him. And he’d tried to shoot him again, except… except….

Except Peter had stopped him. Peter had shot a – a _web_ , out of his… out his wrist, out of his arm, and he’d caught the gun and pulled it out of his hands, and –

Nausea began to rise in his chest.

What the hell had happened to him?

The goo began eking out of his left wrist once more, and Peter’s ears twitched as the sounds of someone snoring quietly seven floors above him reached his ears.

What _was_ happening to him?

Looking at the pile of strings – of _webbing_ , the back of his mind whispered – that lay on the floor, Peter swallowed. He looked up at the door.

He had to get out of here.

Whatever this was – whatever was going on – it had to _not_ happen here. Whatever was happening had to happen somewhere else, somewhere far away from any other people, away from Martha, from Joe –

Peter stood back up. He spotted a piece of paper on the desk along with a pen, and after hastily writing two words – _thank you_ – he turned off the lamp, kicking the pile of now-crumbling webs underneath the bed. He walked quickly over to the window and opened it, the biting cold of the north winter wind quickly surrounding him and hungrily biting into his skin. Ignoring the chill, he grabbed hold of the top of the window and steadied himself as he stepped onto the sill, pausing only a moment before pressing his hand against the wall, and fully moving outside.

He pulled the window back down, closing it quietly against the sill.

He paused, taking a deep breath before turning his head around to look back.

The city was aglow with lights, the sounds of cars and trucks honking and brakes screeching to a halt reaching his ears. He looked at all the buildings, trying to gauge which ones they were, and where that meant he now was. Joe had said he’d found him in Queens, but his attic was down in Manhattan, near the _Daily Bugle_.

He could see the lights of the World Trade Center far in the distance, which meant that he had to be at least a two-hours walk, if not three-hours away from home. Well, from his attic, at least. But that was where he had to get to. He had to get back to his isolated and secluded attic, so that he could figure all of this out, and try and figure out exactly what they had done to him.

With a deep breath and as equally deep a sigh, Peter began to crawl.

He had only moved six feet down the building when his fingers suddenly lost their grip, and he began to plummet to the ground.

The scream was sucked from his throat as everything spun around him. He wasn’t high up to begin with, he didn’t have that long to fall, so he had to do something, he had to find the edge of the wall or –

Instinctively Peter reached his hands out, flailing them around, searching for any purchase, for anything to grab, for –

Out of nowhere something shot from his arm, and before he even knew what was happening he had suddenly jerked to a stop, and Peter suddenly found himself flying through the air.

As he began to swing upwards instinct took over, one that Peter was terrifyingly familiar with, but which he hadn’t expected to feel again. Before he could think twice he had reached out his other hand, hoping beyond hope that what had happened before would happen again, that a string – a web – would shoot out and grab hold of the other building. He reached as his momentum began to slow, stretching his hand farther and farther, hoping – hoping –

Another web shot out. It latched onto the next building, and Peter barely had time to let go of the last web before he was swinging back down, soaring past windows and balconies. He reached out again a third time, and again, another web shot out and caught the next building, and he was soaring once more.

It felt just like before. It felt just like when he had his web-shooters, when he would be swinging past the buildings, up and down and soaring around the corner, like the best roller-coaster he’d ever been on –

Peter went to hold out his hand a fourth time, but nothing happened. With his momentum lost, his stomach began to rise into his throat as he began to fall backwards.

No. No no no, he couldn’t – if he crashed back into the building at this speed, he would surely –

He threw out and aimed his wrist in as many ways as he could, desperately hoping that one of them would work, that another web would suddenly shoot out, and –

Peter hit the side of the building with a loud bang, a piece of brick breaking off and clattering to the ground below. His body was sent careening off into another direction, spinning round and around until finally he came to a stop.

Breathing heavily, Peter hung by the web, slowly swinging back and forth. He stared at the web he was holding, where the silver string met his wrist, his eyes wide as he fought to get back his breath.

Somehow, no one appeared to have heard him. Whether they were used to the different noises of the city or just didn’t care, Peter didn’t know. But it meant he had another chance.

Leaning over, Peter ran his hands against the brick side of the apartment building. His fingers stuck for a moment, then lost their grip again. He looked down. He could try climbing back down the wall, but it was more than likely he’d slip again, and whether he’d be able to catch himself in time, or….

Peter tugged at the web.

It was strong. Whatever it was made of, it was as strong as the solution that he used to make. He wondered if it was even stronger, if it could –

No. Not now. He could experiment with whatever the hell it was later, but now – now he had to get out of here, especially before anyone saw him. He didn’t think he’d be able to explain how he was hanging off the side of a building with only a thin, silver rope to hold him.

Looking round, Peter tried to figure out what he should do.

He could try and shoot another web. Except he’d already tried that, and nothing he’d done had worked. He could try climbing down, but there was the distinct reality that he would fall; and he didn’t exactly feel like slamming his body into concrete tonight.

Which meant the only other way out was… up.

Gripping the web in his hand, Peter held it only for a moment, before he began pulling himself up; he moved inch by inch, then foot by foot, faster and faster until suddenly he was at the top of the building and climbing onto its edge. He rose to his feet and peered back down with wide eyes at the ground, twenty floors below.

His heart was racing and his arms were on fire in a way they had never been before. Adrenaline continued to pump through his veins, as he took in the realisation that he had just stopped himself from falling, not by grabbing onto the side of the building, not by using mechanical web-shooters or a suit, but by real, actual webs, that had shot out from his _arms_ –

Peter swallowed and looked up, fighting against the panic that was trying to rise once more. He could think about of this later, when he was back safe and alone in the attic. But right now, he had to get down from this building.

Finding a fire escape, Peter carefully made his way down. His fingers slipped every so often, but for the most part they were starting to hold better than before. Finally Peter’s feet reached the pavement, and he let go.

Peter stared out towards the lights of the World Trade Center and the Empire State buildings. If he could reach them, then he would know how to find the rest of the way home. All he needed was to start walking.

A cold breeze whispered around him and Peter shivered, but he didn’t feel as quite cold as before. In fact, he felt more awake than he had all day.

Looking round, he spotted a piece of fabric hanging out of a nearby dumpster. Walking over, he opened the lid quietly and pulled out a torn and musty old blanket. He wrapped it around himself, ignoring the way the smell stung in his nose. Looking up, he took a breath.

He had a long night ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even the more "quiet" chapters end up long. Being able to say a lot with few words is still an aspect of writing that I'm working on. I hope you still enjoyed it! 
> 
> Please don't worry - Tony and the crew will finally be showing up (and staying) within the next couple chapters. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo! Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have left kudos and comments! I'm blown away by how seriously wonderful you all have been. I hope you enjoy this next chapter! The wheels are finally starting to turn.

Peter tucked his two middle fingers down against his wrist, and pushed. An interweaving string of webbing shot out and cracked against the wall ahead of him, sticking to the wood and pulling taut.

It had taken countless tries, but Peter had eventually found the trick to using his new web-shooters. Well, he supposed he couldn’t call it that anymore. These webs were as far from mechanic as you could get.

But they were similar. Eerily similar. He knew that to others, it would appear as though there were no difference at all. To them, everything would look the same. But he could feel the difference; now, instead of having the weight of his home-made web-shooters tied round his wrist, he could instead feel the webbing under his skin, its weight sitting deep within his arms; as well instead of coming from closer to his palm like the shooters had, they instead came from farther up his arm, a good three or four inches from the base of his wrist.

Well, Peter mused, letting the web go and watching it break away from his arm, he supposed there wasn’t really a “before” for anyone else. No one could remember the web-shooters that he had built from scratch, so for them, this would only ever be who he was. Who Spider-Man was. He doubted Tony would be overly thrilled in the long run, seeing as all his own ideas and improvements for the shooters would now be made useless, and –

Peter blinked, reality suddenly catching up with him.

Oh, right. For a moment, he had actually forgotten.

Peter chuckled humorlessly to himself, staring at his wrists with a wry grin. It had been a long time since something had made him forget like that.

Looking up, Peter glanced around the room of his attic, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. Webs hung from nearly every possible place in the small room. It looked vaguely like a room in a haunted house at Halloween, as though a million spiders had decided to make their home here and had insisted on decorating. Peter supposed that in a way, that was true.

He’d arrived back at the attic sometime before dawn. He’d hardly bothered to look round to see if the coast was clear before he started crawling up the side of the wall. He’d slipped and slid a few times, his fingers still refusing to work properly, before he’d finally made it to the window. Once he’d made it inside he had practically collapsed onto his bed, and hadn’t woken until late afternoon the next day.

He still felt like rubbish. He figured that was why his ability to climb was being screwed up; that whatever they’d done to him in that lab, whether it was from the attempted vivisection or the chemicals they’d gassed him with, it had messed with his abilities. It had given him new ones, apparently, but in the meantime decided to screw around with the ones that he already had. Once everything aligned itself properly, it would all get better.

He hoped.

Peter winced as he moved onto the mattress, his shoulder throbbing with pain. He pressed his hand against it, massaging what he could to relieve what little pain he was able. The bullet was still lodged inside, his skin now a dark black and the colour spreading. He had tried digging it out a few hours ago with a knife, but between how deep it was and how painful it had been, he hadn’t been able to succeed. Just twenty minutes after the attempt, the skin had already scabbed over and was attempting to heal once more. That was at least forty minutes faster than normal, and Peter was left wondering what other changes to his body there were.

Speaking of changes….

Peter lifted up the bottom of his shirt, taking in sight before him.

The scar ran from just below his clavicle all the way down to his sternum. It was still an angry and vivid red, though the skin was puckered in a poor attempt at healing. Or perhaps just a slow attempt. Whatever the Goblin had used on him, it wasn’t letting his body – even as it now was – heal it completely. It were as though it felt that Peter needed a permanent reminder of the event, refusing to let him tuck himself away in his small corner of the world and act as though nothing had happened.

Peter didn’t know what he should do. Logically he knew that the bullet needed to come out, that unless he wanted to risk further infection and permanent damage, it had to be removed. Except that he didn’t know any way that he could do that, aside from doing it himself. Though he’d failed once already, it was clearly still the only option he had.

He’d have to get liquor, of some kind, to dull the pain. And something to extract the bullet with that wouldn’t tear up his shoulder further. Both would be easy to find, but not so easy to obtain. He’d only been able to save up a little bit of money, all of which was supposed to be used when he turned eighteen and was able to finally get out of this place. He hadn’t touched a dime of it for nearly two years since he started saving; he didn’t exactly feel thrilled at the idea of using it now, for something as ridiculous as this.

The only other choice, then, was to steal. And it may very well be what he’d have to do. He’d stolen before, when times had gotten particularly rough. He’d hated every minute of it, every second, but when it had been between that and starving, he’d chosen the former.

Peter shivered, a chill running through his body. He looked up at the window, where white, grey clouds covered the sky. He stood to his feet, ignoring the numerous strings of webbing that brushed over him as he walked.

He stood at the window for a few moments, simply staring at the familiar buildings outside nearby and skyscrapers in the distance. Even though the window was closed, he could still practically taste the snow in the air that would fall within the hour.

The last two winters had been horrible. Stuck in an attic with no heat and not even walled insulation, Peter had spent many a cold night on his lumpy mattress with nothing but a jacket and a thin blanket.

He wondered vaguely if spiders hibernated, as there had been more than one time when he’d gone to sleep, swearing it was a Sunday, only to wake up and find newspapers for the following Thursday – sometimes even Saturday – out on the news stands. It was a bit jarring, but for the most part Peter had ignored it. When every single day was the same as the last, none of the days really mattered.

Peter wrapped his arms around himself, shivering once more before turning round and heading back to the mattress. He sat down on it with a thud, grabbing his blanket and throwing it around his shoulders. He laid down, curling into the corner, and closed his eyes, hoping that when he woke, it would be his eighteenth birthday.

Even better, maybe he’d never wake up at all.

* * *

The next two days were spent experimenting with his webs, shooting them this way and that, seeing just how similar and dissimilar they were to the web-shooters he had once known. He found the webbing to be just as he’d thought, in that they were stronger than the solution-based webs he’d made himself. The tensile strength, the flexibility – they were all just a bit stronger, a bit better than the chemical. How this was and whether or not it would actually hold up to scrutiny, Peter didn’t know. But it was fascinating all the same.

The bullet wound was getting progressively worse.

Peter had secretly been wishing that somehow, someway his body would push the bullet out on its own; that whatever healing ability he had before was enhanced along with the rest of his powers, and that their reach could go as far as self-expulsion of foreign objects. It didn’t.

He’d have to go outside. That was the long and short of it. He’d been avoiding it, hoping that he could get better on his own, that he wouldn’t have to cut into his own tissue and muscle and dig around until he managed to find and pull out a bullet of who-knew how small. He’d been able to do that Before, when he’d gained wounds that might’ve been too serious for a human, but were too inane for the Avengers, leaving him to instead wait it out until they healed on their own. He’d gotten pretty good at stitching himself up; now if only his body would do the same now.

But it hadn’t. And Peter knew, logically, that it wouldn’t; not until the bullet was out. The rising heat in his skin and headache behind his eyes spoke that loud and clear. His body had slowed down the wound’s effects for a few days, but Peter knew that he couldn’t wait any longer.

Which meant he had to leave – now.

With a heavy sigh, Peter stood and made his way to the window. He opened it, shivering as a cold breeze blew in. Stepping up and crouching onto the sill, he looked down at the ground below. He tucked his mouth against his good shoulder and coughed; the fact that there was snow on the ground but he was still feeling hot was a strong hint that he had to get going. Or that he should have gone long before.

The question was, would his fingers work? Peter had figured that the reason they’d stopped before – or become very unreliable – was because of the change to his abilities, to the change in his molecules and his body. It had been nearly four days now since he’d escaped the Goblin, so surely everything was stabilized now, right? He had climbed around on the walls and ceiling of the attic while he’d been testing his webs, and everything had been all right; but the difference between a fifteen-foot drop and fifty-foot drop was a tad bit big, and Peter wasn’t sure how his body would take the fall.

A wave of nausea fell over him, and Peter swallowed. It was time to go.

Stepping out onto the wall, Peter held tightly to the window sill until finally, with a deep breath, he let go.

He stayed.

Wasting no time, Peter quickly scurried down the wall, glancing this way and that to make sure that he was alone. Not that it would really matter at this point, if he hadn’t been. Right now he just needed to get a big bottle of whiskey, some sort of tweezers, and a piece of wood to bite onto. Self-surgery was a bitch.

Stepping onto the ground, Peter wrapped his thin jacket tight around his body, and began to walk.

Liquor stores were the obvious place to hit. But being the obvious, they were also the ones with the most security cameras. And a guy that looked and dressed like him, walking into a place like that, was bound to be watched like a hawk the moment he stepped foot inside.

So a convenience store it was then. The open-air ones would be the easiest. He could be in and out in fifteen seconds, and he was certain he wouldn’t be caught. Thieves were known for having “sticky fingers”, but lucky for Peter, his actually were.

The tweezers he would have to find somewhere else. A pharmacy, perhaps. But the more higher-end the store, the more out of place he would be. And he couldn’t just walk into a store with a bottle of liquor in his hands. So he’d have to find a place to store the liquor, that he’d be able to get quickly to later. It would have to be hidden so no one else could find it….

Peter hummed to himself, which turned into a cough. Maybe he’d have to get the tweezers first. Then he could get in and out of the liquor store with both items, and then finding the piece of wood would be easy as pie. He could just break a piece of the flooring in the attic if he had to, and –

The back of Peter’s neck ran cold as his hair stood up, and a second later he could hear the sounds of people fighting. A woman screamed.

Peter steeled himself and began looking around, trying to find another corridor of an alley that he could escape down; some place where he could quickly walk away from the noise of anger and distress until he could no longer hear a thing.

But there were no other alleyways. He could only go straight or turn around. But going straight would mean passing the alley to the right up ahead, where the sounds of fighting were coming from, and Peter didn’t want to do that.

He always avoided these situations before he could see them. If he could see them, it would only make it all the more difficult to look the other way. But if he avoided them, he could always pretend the noises weren’t as bad as they seemed, and could believe that right after he’d left, help had come.

Lies were a far easier pill to swallow than the truth.

Peter took a deep breath and continued to walk. Eyes straight, never turning, never stopping, never looking over to see what was happening. Don’t turn. Don’t stop. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look –

The body being thrown in front of him and crashing into the wall, however, was difficult to ignore, and on instinct Peter’s head snapped up and he looked to the right.

There were seven men that were surrounded around one man, who was fighting ferociously back. A woman lay on the ground, her jacket and blouse ripped open, a trail of blood lining down her lip.

Looking at the men, Peter knew instantly that it was a gang. The fact that they weren’t fighting each other, but every single one was focused on the one man fighting back, proved as much. Peter was surprised at how good the man was, at how he was still standing, when –

The men shifted as they fought, and Peter froze as familiar features reached his eyes.

The man that they were fighting, the person that was holding his own against seven other men, was –

Was Clint Barton.

It took Peter a long moment to realise that what he was seeing was real, that the person that was currently trying to fight off seven other men was actually Clint Barton – was actually _Hawkeye_.

He was in civilian clothes, wearing a jacket and jeans, a pair of mittens tossed a few feet away on the ground. He was using nothing but his fists, and Peter wondered why on earth he wasn’t using his bow. It was only when his eyes scanned the ground did he see it off in the corner by the wall. Peter frowned, his wide eyes looking back up at the fight. Clearly, whoever these people were, they were very good if they were able to actually disarm an Avenger.

The woman suddenly turned and looked round, before looking up and catching his eye. Her own eyes were wide and filled with terror.

“P-please,” she said, “please, help – help, he – there’s too many, he needs help –.”

Peter shirked back at the sudden attention, lowering his chin into his jacket.

This was exactly what he’d always been wanting to avoid; if people saw him, they might ask for his help. And he wasn’t in that business anymore; he didn’t want to be involved with anything like that, he didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention, he didn’t want to be on anyone’s radar, he –

“Sir, _please!_ ”

He couldn’t. Clint was an Avenger, he could more than take care of himself. He’d fought against aliens in the attack on New York, he’d fought in the fight against Thanos, he’d fought everything in-between. He wasn’t on Tony’s contact list for nothing, he wasn’t an Avenger for nothing, he –

“Sir, if you can’t, then please – please let me use your phone, or – or please call for help, please he – he’s fighting _seven_ men, he can’t keep going and –.”

Everything in Peter screamed at him to leave, and to leave _now_. He needed to go, to get out of here. Clint was taking care of himself, he didn’t need any help, he was an Avenger, he was a skilled assassin, he was –

He was losing.

Clint – Hawkeye – was falling. The seven men that surrounded him were getting their own injuries sure enough, but – but they were getting their own punches in, as well. Too many of them. They were getting too many punches in, and… and….

But it was impossible. Clint was an _Avenger_ , that was no easy club to get into, he couldn’t – he couldn’t possibly – he couldn’t actually be _losing_ –

Peter would call the police. He’d run and find the nearest way out onto the street, then run and find the nearest police officer, or someone with a phone, or –

One of the men who had been nearer to the back of the group pulled away, his eyes dancing around until they landed on the woman. A large smile revealed crooked, yellow teeth, and the gleam in his eyes spoke clearly what was going through his mind. He began walking towards her and the woman screamed, pushing herself back as fast as she could, but there was no way she’d be able to escape, there was no way Hawkeye could get to her, and –

The woman screamed again.

Something inside Peter snapped, and before he could even think a second thought he was suddenly running forward. His hand shot out and seized the man’s arm just as it was about to grab onto the woman, stopping it in its tracks.

The man jerked and his head snapped up, startled. He stared at Peter for a moment with wide eyes, before the lop-sided grin returned. “I don’t think you really want to get involved with this one, mate.”

The man pulled his arm hard, and it was clear from the subsequently confused lines etching his face that he’d thought the move would free him. Instead, his arm didn’t even move an inch. He looked up at Peter, his smile flickering with a hint of anger. “All right then, if you really want to play.”

He turned and swung his foot, kicking Peter in the side of the leg. Peter, however, barely felt a single thing, and his grip on the man’s arm tightened. He pulled the man back, taking him as far away from the woman as he could.

The man fought. He kicked and punched like a madman, but Peter dodged and blocked every single one. The man continued to try and wrench his arm free of Peter’s grasp, but Peter had an iron grip on his wrist and wasn’t letting go.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly tingled, and Peter could feel the coming punch that was heading straight towards the back of his head.

Peter instinctively moved his head to left, dodging the punch completely. He let his grip on the first man go and turned his full attention to the new one now in front of him. They traded kicks and punches for a few moments before both men decided to try and punch his head from both the back and the front at the same time. In an instant Peter dropped to the ground and swept his leg in an entire circle, bringing both men crashing down onto the cement.

A third man arrived, and the fight continued.

It was like riding a bicycle. He hadn’t done it in what felt like an age, but he still knew exactly to do, which punches to pull and which to take. It was like a dance that Peter had thought he’d forgotten, but his body still knew every step.

Peter finally knocked one man to the ground and he stayed down, curling into himself in pain. Another man arrived to replace him and instantly Peter lifted his leg, and kicked. The man was sent flying back through the air across the alley, until he finally crashed against a brick wall, where he promptly fell to the ground in a heap and didn’t get back up.

Peter continued to spar with the two other men for a few more minutes, before finally getting in a good punch to both and sending them unconscious to the ground to join the rest.

Peter could hear Clint’s racing heartbeat, could hear his ragged breaths before he even saw him. Peter’s head finally snapped round, his eyes quickly latching onto the last three men that still surrounded the Avenger. Finally, Peter could see Clint’s face more clearly.

It wasn’t good.

He had blood streaming down his face and bruises were already starting to form all across it. His eyes, though starting to cloud, were still filled with anger and fight. But he was still losing.

Peter didn’t wait any longer.

Reaching the conflict, Peter quickly pulled one of the men back and punched him squarely in the sternum. The man immediately crumpled to the ground, and another kick sent him skidding off down the alley.

Another punch came towards the back of his head and Peter again dodged it effortlessly, turning back round to engage with yet another fight.

He sensed the punch coming towards his gut before it hit, knowing he wouldn’t be able to dodge but that he could take it easily. He didn’t sense the knife in the man’s hand, however, and didn’t realise it was there until it had already gone into his side.

Though the knife had gone well below his chest and into his lower abdomen, it still felt as though someone had punched him in the back and ripped all the air from his lungs.

Peter stumbled back, momentarily stunned. He shook his head, trying to get his senses back again, just as a second punch came straight towards his head. Before it collided, though, the man was suddenly thrown to the side, his head smacking the cement with a loud crack, knocking him unconscious.

Peter looked up to see Hawkeye standing in front of him, the final gang member on the ground behind him.

They stared at each other for a brief moment, before Hawkeye promptly collapsed.

Peter rushed forward, barely catching his head before it hit the cement.

“H-Hawkeye. Hawkeye, Clint, are you – where are you hurt, are you –.”

“M-my back,” Clint said through clenched teeth, his face twisting in pain as Peter moved him. “Th-they got – they got my back, left… the lower left….”

Peter turned the older man onto his side, running his hand across his back until he finally felt the warm smear of blood against his fingers. By the vacant look on Clint’s face and what little he knew of anatomy, Peter knew the stab-wound wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

Panic began to course through Peter’s body. They needed help, they needed help right now. If they didn’t, Hawkeye would either lose an organ, or bleed out, or –

Peter heard whimpering behind him and his head snapped round, his eyes meeting the terrified ones of the woman, who was still laying on the ground.

“Y-you need to go,” he managed to get out. “Go. You need to go get help, he’s bleeding, he needs help, he –.”

The woman blinked, then nodded once before shakily getting to her feet. In a moment she had disappeared around the corner and was gone.

Peter stared after her for a moment, his heart beating loudly in his chest, before he turned back to Hawkeye. By the look on his face and the ashing of his skin, it was clear that unless the woman could find someone in the next few minutes, they were screwed.

There was only one other option.

“Clint,” he said, turning back to the man whose eyes were now closed. Peter tapped the side of his face, trying to wake him up. “Clint, where’s your comm? Where’s your comm, Clint?!”

Clint blinked, staring up into the sky for a few moments before finally seeming to register what Peter had asked. “Right… right pocket.”

Everyone that Tony considered important – well, anyone he considered might be a prime candidate for at-risk situations, anyway – got a communicator that they were told to take with them wherever they went. It was really nothing more than an old-school pager, but smaller; it was activated by either the use of your fingerprint or a voice command, which would then send an SOS beacon to the Avenger’s compound and alert any Avenger nearby that you were in distress.

Peter instinctively pressed his thumb against the sensor, but of course nothing happened. He swore, white specks starting to dance in front of his eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut. He took a deep breath as he fought against the pain in his side and the throb in his shoulder, which had been hit more times than he could count. He tapped the comm twice, and a small beep responded.

“Send –,” he coughed, “send a message to T-Tony Stark – Clint’s been stabbed, he needs help, send – send someone to get help, or –.”

“ _Voice authorization not recognized,”_ a tinny voice spoke from the communicator. _“Please try again.”_

“God dammit,” Peter swore, and he shoved the communicator up to Hawkeye’s mouth, gripping the man’s shoulder with his other hand. “Tell it to send help,” he said. Hawkeye didn’t respond, and Peter started shaking him. “Clint! Clint, tell the damn thing to send help! Just tell it to get help, or send an SOS or _something_ –.”

Clint’s eyes partially opened, and he looked down at the comm. Thankfully he seemed to understand what he was trying to do, as he coughed a few times, then spoke. “S...send for h-help. Send… help….”

The comm beeped once, then started flashing red. Peter nearly collapsed with relief, crumpling against Clint as the adrenaline in his body slowly started to abate.

Peter stayed still for only a few moments, before starting to move.

He had to leave, he had to get out of here. He still needed to find a bottle of alcohol, he still needed to find something to dig the bullet out of his shoulder, and if he didn’t leave now he doubted he’d have the strength to move at all, which meant he had to start standing and… and….

Peter suddenly became very aware of how hot his body was, and he vaguely remembered that he’d been running a fever. Well, as much as he could tell by only himself, anyway. It wasn’t like he had a thermometer or anything like that, so he couldn’t know for sure, but he was fairly certain he’d been starting to get one – or already had one – before, and he doubted that fevers much enjoyed getting thrown around like he’d just done. Or was it that his body that didn’t like being thrown around? Weren’t they the exact same thing? They felt like the same thing. His entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out, and Peter was certain that damned bullet wound was to blame, so all he had to do was just stand on his own two feet and get up and walk and find some alcohol, and – and –

The headache that had taken a back seat to the rest of the afternoon’s events suddenly made itself known again in full force, exploding inside his temples. Peter dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, groaning in pain.

God, but he was tired. That’s all he ever seemed to be now, tired. Drained. Exhausted. Whether it was because he was living on a homeless-man’s diet or because he had the metabolism of a lion, he didn’t know. Probably both. So really, all he needed to do was find some food and get some sleep and then he’d be fine, surely he’d be fine, and then he could go back to finding some alcohol – some whiskey, something that would burn, something that would burn all the fire away – and then he would dig his fingers into his skin and pull out that damned bullet, he would… he would….

Peter wasn’t aware of when he fell to the ground, only that one minute the world was right side up, and the next Leonardo DiCaprio had turned it all onto its side. Maybe that’s all that this was; maybe this was all just a dream, a very vivid, horrible dream. A dream within a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare within a nightmare. Which meant that all he needed to do to get out of it was to die. He could die, and then wake up, and then everything would be as it once was; everything would be back to normal. He’d have Ned, he’d have MJ, he’d have Tony, he’d have Aunt May – but not Andrew. Not stupid, moronic Andrew. Andrew could get kicked to the curb, because Andrew didn’t belong. He didn’t belong in any of this. He could go far away, far, far away where no one else could find him, where he could be by himself, where he could continue being alone, where he could always be alone, and… and….

Peter closed his eyes, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave a comment or kudo! Your support means the world to me.
> 
> Thanks again!!


	9. Found

It was the beeping that woke him up.

It was a steady thing, a constant noise that echoed loudly in his ears, starting off as a slight annoyance and escalating quickly into fingers on a chalkboard.

Flashes of a glass cage and a knife descending on his chest suddenly appeared, and Peter’s eyes snapped open.

He immediately sat up, pushing himself back with his feet and fighting whatever was entangled in his arms, trying to rip them off because he had to get out, he had to get out of here before the Goblin saw him and –

“...ir, Sir! Sir, please calm down! You’re all right, you’re all right sir – you’re safe, everything’s okay, everything –.”

The world came into sudden focus and Peter blinked, stilling as he finally took in his surroundings.

He was in a room. A room that was definitely not a glass cage, but a real room with beige walls and a door and windows and –

The woman’s voice continued to utter reassurances, insisting he was okay and that he was safe, that there was no need to panic and he should calm down _right_ _now_.

The beeping in his ears began to slow, and Peter felt the panic begin to abate. This was definitely not the Goblin’s laboratory, and by the way the woman was holding onto his arms, he wasn’t tied down. No, if anything, this place actually looked like –

Like a hospital.

Peter swallowed and fell back onto pillows. The sound of the woman’s voice slowly came back to his ears. “Good, that’s good. Now please, just stay here for a moment while I page Doctor Cho.”

Peter frowned, then looked up at the woman whose back was already turned to him, as she made her way towards a phone on the wall. He watched as she lifted the receiver and began punching numbers. His gaze turned to the rest of the room.

Something about this place felt familiar. He wasn’t sure what it was; he had never spent much time – if any – in hospitals; he’d never been much of a sick child and everyone he knew who did need one had died before they could get there. So the view from the patient’s bed shouldn’t have been a familiar one. His eyes swore that he had never seen this place or the woman before, but yet something unnerved him; his senses whispered that there was something about this place. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

The woman hung up the phone and turned round, looking at him with a gentle, practiced smile. “Doctor Cho will be down shortly. She’s just attending to another patient at the moment.” She walked over to Peter until she was at the foot of his bed. “My name is Nurse Wright,” she said. “May I ask your name?”

All right – so Peter had figured out one thing that made this place look so incredibly odd: it was the whole set up of the room itself. He’d seen enough television and movies, and had even been in one a few times himself, to know that this wasn’t a regular hospital room. It was too big, it was too open. The walls weren’t even completely white, and the large bay-window in front of him made him feel more like a specimen on display, rather than a patient recovering in privacy.

Which begged the question: what was he even doing here? The last he remembered, he was going off to find a bottle of whiskey and a pair of pliers to dig the bullet out of his shoulder, and –

Peter stilled as the memories came rushing back.

And he’d stumbled upon a fight. He’d stumbled upon a bunch of guys fighting one man who was defending a woman, but he was trying to fight off seven other men and he was losing, and what made it even more shocking was that that he wasn’t just a man, but it was actually Clint Barton – he was Hawkeye, he was one of the Avengers; he was a master archer, he was an expert tactician, he was –

He was hurt, badly. He’d been beaten up, he’d been stabbed, and Peter….

Peter’s eyes widened.

Peter had called the Avengers. He’d used the comm and called for help, he’d made Clint call for help, and after that… after that he couldn’t remember. Whether someone had come and got Clint, whether the woman had found help first, he didn’t know. He had no idea, and now –

“Sir?”

Peter tore himself from his thoughts and looked up. The woman was still smiling down at him, but the small lines now etched near her eyes told him she was either feeling uneased or frustration. Maybe both.

“Sir, my name is Nurse Wright,” she repeated. “May I ask your name?”

Peter stared a moment longer, then finally answered: “Peter.” He licked his lips. “Where am I?” he asked, looking around once more. His senses continued to tell him that something about this place was familiar, but what was it?

“You’re in the hospital ward. You were found along with another man; you were both injured so we brought you back here. He says there was a fight, and you –.”

“Is he okay?” Peter interrupted, sitting up. “Clint, is he – is he all right? There was a stab wound, on his lower back, on the left of his lower back but there might’ve been more, there could’ve been more but I wasn’t able to check, and –.”

“The man you were with is fine. He only suffered the one stab wound and is recovering in another one of the wards.”

Relief washed over Peter and he fell back onto the pillows, taking a deep breath.

Good. Good, that was good. They’d managed to get to him in time and save him and that was good. That was very very good.

“I’m not sure if you were aware,” the nurse continued, “but you also suffered a few wounds yourself. There was a stab wound in your lower abdomen, near your waist. However, it didn’t hit any vital organs and we expect you will recover quite nicely. We also found a bullet wound in your upper right shoulder; it looked as though it had been there for quite some time.”

Peter instinctively grabbed hold of his shoulder and sure enough, there was no pain.

“Were able to remove it, and we expect the wound will heal nicely as well. It may take a bit longer than the wound on your abdomen, and you will experience continued bruising for a while, but aside from that, you will be fine.”

Oh. Well that sounded good. It was a far better alternative to having to pull out the bullet himself. Obviously.

Another worry rose in Peter’s mind. “Um, I don’t – that is, I don’t have any way of p...paying,” he said. “I – that is, I don’t… I’m just living by myself, right now.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that. If they found out he was underage, even if it wasn’t for much longer, and they knew he was living by himself, then –

“Oh don’t worry about any of that,” the nurse quickly reassured him. “This facility is run by the Stark Corporation. You will receive no cost whatsoever.” She smiled. “Especially after helping one of his friends.”

Everything that Peter was doing, everything he was thinking, came to a sudden halt.

Wait, what?

“Wh-what did you say?” Peter asked, looking up at the nurse.

The nurse’s smile widened, as though she were sharing a conspiratorial secret. “I said you needn’t worry about any cost – Mister Stark will cover it. He runs this facility, and I don’t know if you realised it or not, but that man you helped is a good friend of his. They work together quite a _lot_.”

Peter could hear the noise of the machine next to him begin to beep faster, and the muscles in his neck started to ache.

“Where – where did you say I was again?”

“You’re in a facility run by Mister Stark. In fact, if I heard right, he might be in the building at this very moment!” She winked. “He may even come over and say thank you later, if you’re lucky.”

As though someone had pressed the ‘resume’ button on Peter’s body, he was suddenly jumping out of the bed, pulling all the cords and wires with him, the machines screeching and beeping loudly in protest.

Nurse Wright started, aghast. “Mister Peter! Mister Peter please, please you must get back into the bed! I promise I will ask Mister Stark to pay a visit, but if you go and try to find him now, you will –.”

“No. No no no no, this can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. I have – I have to get out of here, I need to get out of here, I –.” Peter ripped the needle from his wrist and pulled off the cannula cord from beneath his nose, freeing him. “I need – I need –.”

“Peter, please! Please, you can’t – oh my goodness.”

He needed – he needed his clothes. At least a pair of pants, a pair of sweatpants at least, or – _there_. Peter quickly grabbed a pair of hospital pants that were laying on a chair and he turned back round, looking for the door. He spotted Nurse Wright, who had just finished hanging up the phone. She turned back to him, her face etched with worry and fear. She raised her hands.

“Now Peter, I’ll ask you one more time, please get back in your bed. You still need to get rest, and –.”

“No,” Peter interrupted. “No, you can’t – I have to get out of here. You don’t understand, I have to get out of here! I need to get out of here or else people will get hurt, they’ll get _hurt_ so you have to let me go!”

He stepped forward but so did Nurse Wright, her eyes and mouth set in sudden determination. “Mister Peter, I will not ask you again. Lay back down on the bed right now, or I’ll have security do it for you.”

Everything within Peter was screaming, was shouting at him to run, to get the hell out of here and get out right _now_. If Mister Stark was in here, if Clint was still in here, then wherever here was, it was where he was not supposed to be.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to ever happen, he wasn’t supposed to be here he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere close to Tony Stark and the Avengers ever again. He had to leave, he had to get out of here right _now_. He had to get out of here, he had to get out get out _get out_.

Peter looked round, searching for any way out other than the door. But aside from the windows, there wasn’t any. He turned back to Nurse Wright and swallowed. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but as long as I’m here you’re all in danger, so I’m going to leave and I’m going to leave _now_.”

He stepped forward again reaching towards her, but the woman didn’t back down. In a move that Peter didn’t see coming, she was suddenly in front of him, grabbing his arm, and twisting it behind his back.

“I’m so sorry Mister Peter,” she said, and it actually sounded like she was. Peter supposed that Tony wouldn’t have just anyone working for him, nurse or otherwise. Apparently learning one of the martial arts came with the job.

Peter felt her increase her grip on one of his pressure points behind his arm, but aside from a tingling discomfort, it did nothing. He twisted easily out of her grasp and spun round, grabbing hold of her wrists.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and really he was. They were both sorry. They were both sorry for the situation the other was in, but the reality was that Peter had the advantage here, and he wasn’t going to give it up.

Nurse Wright stared at him in alarm, her eyes growing wide as he pushed her down.

Just as he was about to shove her away, his spidey-senses tingled along the back of his neck at the sound of footsteps running down the hall. A second later the door swung open and Peter felt arms wrap around his neck.

At that point instinct kicked in, and Peter fought. He grabbed onto the guy’s arms and pulled him over his back, sending him crashing to the floor in front of him. Another man wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing tight. Peter grabbed hold of the man’s forearms and wrenched them back; he twisted round and kicked the guard, sending him flying back through the now-open door.

Seeing his opening, Peter ran.

He sprinted through the hallways, dodging round more security guards as they tried to stop him. He latched onto an exit sign and turned where it pointed, following the rest down twists and turns until he finally spied two glass doors, where light from the outside shone through. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he ran faster and faster, until he was at the end of the hallway and bursting through the doors, and –

Peter skidded to a stop, nearly falling over as his feet slipped along the grass, his eyes growing wide as the world came into a sudden and sharp focus.

Trees. There were trees, everywhere. A forest of them. Many still had their leaves on, but some were already bare and covered with a thin layer of frost. Spruce and pine shone out between them, dark and forewarning against the pale grey of the clouded sky. They surrounded him, wrapping around the building like barrier.

Peter suddenly knew exactly where he was, and why this place felt so horribly familiar.

He was at the Compound. He was at the Avenger’s Compound, all the way up in upstate New York. He was at the Compound where all of the Avengers – Tony, Clint, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner – liked to hang out. This was where they were all the most likely to be when not out saving the world or doing undercover business. This was their headquarters, this was their safe haven.

And this was exactly where Peter was not supposed to be.

He had to get out of here. Now he _really_ had to get out of here. If he stayed too long, if he was near them for too long, then everything he’d been trying to avoid would come to pass and Seftis would come back and they would die, they would all die because of him, because he wasn’t able to keep to his bargain, because he wasn’t able to hold up his end of the deal and just _stay the hell away_ from everyone, just stay the hell away and keep to himself and keep them safe and –

He sensed the person coming up behind him only seconds before they’d tackled him and put him in a vice-like hold. Peter struggled, trying to free himself, but the moment he did he felt something prick the side of his neck, and seconds later everything went dark.

* * *

This time when he woke, he had to good sense to keep his eyes closed.

He was back in the hospital room, that much he could tell by the incessant beeping of the heart monitor and the sheets that were practically binding him to the bed. They’d caught him, obviously. Caught him when he’d let his guard down, when he’d let himself be overwhelmed by the realisation that he wasn’t in New York, that he was at the Avenger’s Compound and about as far from the city as he could ever want to be.

Peter took a few moments to just breathe.

He’d have to be better. This wasn’t a child’s game anymore, this was no longer a long-held game of hide-and-seek without a seeker. This was life and death. If he didn’t get out of here, and if he didn’t get out of here soon, everyone would be in danger. The longer he was with them, the greater chance Seftis would see them and then he’d return, he’d return and carry out his threat and kill every one of them. He’d bury another axe in Clint’s back, he’d pierce Tony’s back and stab him straight through his heart, he would go after Bruce and then Steve and then Bucky and then –

The door suddenly opened and Peter could hear the footsteps of two people as they walked inside, his ears picking up every beat of their hearts and the breaths in their lungs. He forced himself to remain calm, hoping that they hadn’t noticed the slight increase of his heart.

“ _Wait.”_ Tony. That was Tony’s voice. Shit. Of all the people that had to walk in here, it had to be _Tony_ – _“This is him? This is the guy that saved your ass?”_

“ _Yeah.”_ That was Clint. He was obviously well enough to be walking, which was a good sign. Peter just wished he hadn’t walked in here. _“Why, what’s the problem?”_

There was a pause, then, _“I know this guy.”_

“ _What?”_ Clint’s voice was incredulous. _“How the hell do you know him? He’s some random kid that happened to walk by in the alley._ _Where on earth could you have possibly met him_ _?”_

“ _You remember me telling you about that kid that that green, goblin thing was trying to go after? The one on the rooftop?”_

“ _This is him?”_

“ _This is him.”_

Another pause, then, _“Well what are the odds of that? This guy_ _must like_ _to find trouble. Lucky for me it worked out this time, I guess.”_

“ _Well I don’t think he was actually looking for trouble, Barton. At least not on the rooftop. Yeah, who the hell knows why he was up there – probably smoking pot or something. But I doubt he was trying to pick a fight with some green weirdo on a hover-board. But he did piss him off somehow; guy just wouldn’t leave him alone. You’d think he’d kicked his puppy, or something.”_

“ _That green guy was actually going after a civilian? What’d you do?”_

“ _I saved him, of course! Thankfully the guy, whoever he was, sucks at engineering. One of the hover-board’s reactors shot and it sent him flying off into Never-Never-Land.”_

“ _Kid was okay?”_

“ _Yup. I picked him up, gave him a ride back down to earth – free of charge, I might add – and sent him on his merry little way. Didn’t say much, but I think he was just too in awe at seeing the_ Invincible Iron Man _.”_

Peter could practically hear Clint roll his eyes. _“That has to be the worse name someone’s ever given you.”_

“ _People have called me many things, my friend, and I can assure you that that is far from the worst.”_

Another pause, and Peter wondered if Clint was shaking his head. _“Well enough ego-boosting. Were you ever able to find any info on this kid?”_

“ _His name is Peter Parker. The only thing FRIDAY could find was his school records. He attended Midtown High until he was fourteen, which was almost four years ago. After that there’s nothing. Zip. Not even doctor’s note. He just fell off the map.”_

“ _Does he have any family?”_

“ _FRIDAY said he had an aunt, at one point. From the looks of things she’s still alive, which means he’s probably a runaway. Not a very good one, might I add. Kid looks skinnier than a starving cat.”_

“ _That’s because he probably_ is _starving, Tony. It’s not exactly easy being homeless.”_

“ _I didn’t say it was! But it’s not like he’s too eager to stay indoors. Wright says he ran almost as soon as he woke up. Didn’t get far though. They had to sedate him to bring him back.”_ Silence, and then a sigh. _“Look. Once he’s back on his feet we’ll give him some money, we’ll get him set up with housing for a few months, and we’ll sign a bunch of autographs that he can sell on e-Bay. How’s that sound?.”_

There were footsteps, followed by a turning of the door handle, but before the door opened Clint spoke. _“He knew my name.”_

There was silence, then a turning of heels.

“ _What, he recognised you as Hawkeye and said as such? I mean, I know the press doesn’t pay as much attention to you as they do some of your betters, but I don’t think it’s that big a deal. I doubt the guys that were beating you up would stop if they knew you were with the Avengers.”_

“ _He called me Clint, Tony. He called me by my first name. He called me_ Clint _.”_

“ _Pssh. Kid could’ve googled it.”_

“ _He knew about the comm! He asked me for my comm, then made me call you. It was like… it was like he knew_ exactly _what to do to get it to work. I thought you’d made them so that random people couldn’t find them and accidentally call the Avengers to help them carry their groceries.”_

“ _Okay, one: he guessed. Everyone probably thinks we all carry some sort of SOS beacon in our pockets. And guess what? We do! And two: it was luck! You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Barton. Honestly. This is just a homeless kid that happened to help you out. That’s great, and I honestly do appreciate it. We all do. But that’s all he is – a random kid. That’s it. So stop with all your conspiracy-ing, and move on. All right?”_

“ _I’m not saying anything’s a conspiracy, Tony, I’m just saying –.”_

“ _Just saying what, exactly? Hmm?”_ Silence. _“Exactly. Now if you’ll allow, I’ve got to get going. I have a meeting with Ross that I need to avoid.”_

The door closed, leaving Peter alone with Clint. Clint stayed for a few more minutes, watching, before turning and leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Peter waited a few more minutes before opening his eyes.

They’d stayed in the room for exactly ten minutes. Peter had counted. And nothing had happened. But what would have happened if they’d stayed for fifteen minutes? Or twenty? What if they’d been there an hour? What then? How long would it have to take before something happened, and Seftis came back, or would they all just drop dead and… and….

Peter suddenly felt exhausted, even though nothing had happened and he’d been sleeping in this bed for who-knew how long. Panic still hovered beneath his skin, adrenaline still hummed in his veins, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. He needed to get out of here. Except now he was probably marked a flight risk and they’d be watching him like a hawk, treating him like a prisoner that was trying to escape. Maybe he was.

Peter glanced up at the clock, then back out the window.

It didn’t matter how tired he was, or how much they were watching him. Every moment he was here was another moment that everyone was in danger. He’d spent two years keeping everyone else safe; he wasn’t going to screw it all up now.

It’d be cold out, and he wasn’t sure where the nearest town or city was; all he knew was that he had to go south. He wasn’t like a normal human, he could endure the cold weather and the nights outside. He could endure the wind and the snow.

He hoped.

He’d escape and get back to New York City, he’d get what little he had from his attic and he’d leave the state. He’d ride the bus or hitchhike until he made his way west, all the way to Minnesota or Montana or Oregon. Somewhere far away, somewhere where the heroes and problems of the Avengers rarely ever came.

But first, he had to get out of here. And now was as good a time as any.

Peter slowly pulled back the covers and made his way out of the bed, removing the cannula and rubbing his stomach as he looked around, hoping that whoever was watching would think he was looking for a bathroom. He knew his acting was shit and the whole thing was ridiculous, but he didn’t need it to be very convincing, he just needed it to buy time.

Reaching the door Peter turned the knob, and quietly made his way outside.

So far, no one was running for him. If anything, whoever was watching would alert the nurse, first, or Doctor Cho.

He stayed along the walls, avoiding the cameras that were tucked away in the corners as best he could. He would listen for people’s heartbeats, for their footsteps, and whenever he heard someone coming he would duck into another hallway or around a corner and wait until they were gone. The strategy worked well enough, until there came a point that two people from both hallways were coming together at once.

Peter began to panic. He could hear their footsteps coming closer and closer, and at the rate they were both walking they would arrive together at the exact same time. He would have to go back.

Peter turned and started nearly running down the hall, dipping into another hallway just as the other people met. He could hear them talking, could hear them saying hello and how they other was. He could hear the third person making their way toward him, only feet away from the corner, and –

Peter’s eyes widened as he realised that someone else was coming straight towards him.

Looking round, Peter began to panic. If he ran back into the other hallway, he would meet the two people that were now making their way down. If he went forward, he would meet the next one and get caught. It was one or the other, he had nowhere else to go, he –

Peter quickly looked up, scanning for cameras. He spotted only one in a recess of the wall, pointing down the hall where the third person was coming down. Without even thinking Peter ducked into the alcove and all but ran up the wall and onto the ceiling. Thankfully the ceiling was high, and not many people made a habit of always looking up. Hopefully.

He stayed back in the shadows, all but squeezing himself against the corner behind the camera. He watched as the person – a man in a suit – walked down the hallway towards him. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the blood rushing loudly in his ears as the man drew closer and closer and –

The man came to the corner where the two hallways met and turned, never once looking up. Peter listened as he walked a few more paces before turning again, before disappearing round the corner and into the building.

Peter let go of the breath he’d been holding, and slowly lowered himself to the ground.

Right. That was close enough. It was time to get out of here.

He navigated his way through the rest of the building’s wing, continuing to dodge members of staff and patrolling security guards. Everyone was calm, which meant they hadn’t yet figured out he was missing. But he knew that the calm wouldn’t last long, and soon someone would sound the alarm, or –

“ _Hey, you!”_

And there it was.

Peter glanced back to see a security guard running towards him from the end of the hallway, another one following close behind. Well, at least he had more distance on them than last time.

Peter took off, making the same twists and turns as last time until he was once again pushing through the doors and into the outside. This time he wasn’t caught off guard by his surroundings, and he started running as fast as he could.

All he had to do was make it to the forest. There were still enough leaves left on the trees that he would be able to hide long enough for them to give up, and then he could start making his way south. All he had to do was run, he had to run as fast as he could, as fast as his legs could carry him, faster and faster and faster and –

Something suddenly caught the corner of his eye, but before he had a chance to even register what it was, he had collided with it and was sent crashing and tumbling to the ground.

There were still people shouting when Peter pushed himself up on his arms. His eyes grew as wide as saucers when they landed on the object – on the person – that lay beneath him.

Steve Rogers stared back, his own eyes just as wide and equally confused. An earbud dangled from his ear, the cord disappearing into the jogging shirt that was zipped up against his neck. They both stared at each other for a brief moment, their brains still catching up to the collision.

“ _Hey you, stop! Get back here!”_

Peter looked back, staring at the now-five security guards that were running towards him. He glanced back down at Steve one more time, before scrambling to his feet and taking off once more. He was less than a hundred yards from the forest, as soon as he made it he’d be able to lose them all in the trees. Just a little more.

* * *

Steve Rogers stared in complete bewilderment and not the least bit of confusion, as he watched the young man get up and start booking it for the trees. Looking back, he watched as the security guards continued to run across the grass, but they were going too slow – there was no way they’d catch the kid before he made it to the forest.

Well, he was never one to turn a blind eye to guards running after what looked like an escaped prisoner – or in this case, an escaped patient. At least not when they were on his side.

Quickly getting to his feet, Steve began running after the boy. He’d catch him, he’d calm him down, and he’d get him back to Doctor Cho. This was probably the young man that had helped save Clint Barton’s life, the homeless one from the alley. It didn’t surprise Steve that he ran. Waking up in a foreign place, hours away from the city and everything he knew, he was bound to be a little frightened, and –

Steve frowned.

He should be catching up to him by now. He was probably the fastest guy he knew, save for Bucky and maybe Thor. Super-soldier serum would do that to you.

But this guy, this guy was… outrunning him?

That didn’t make sense.

Steve increased his speed. Soon he was running as fast as his legs could go, but to his utter astonishment, the kid was still getting away. A few seconds later he was at the forest and disappeared through the trees.

Steve slowed until he came to a halt. A few moments later a couple of the security guards met him, both breathing heavily.

“Who is that?” Steve asked, frowning into the trees.

“That’s the kid that came in with Mister Barton, Sir,” one of the men responded. “He ran away from the medical ward. He was supposed to be under surveillance,” he looked pointedly at another guard, “since after the first time he got out and –.”

“He got out before?” Steve asked incredulously.

The guard had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed. “We caught him the first time, we figured he’d been scared or gone looking for Mister Stark. He was supposed to be under heavier watch, but –.”

“But he still managed to escape,” Steve finished. “Seems like the story of our lives.” He sighed, turning to the other security guards who had just arrived. “Do we know if this guy is a threat? Has he been violent at all?”

“No Sir. But he is still supposed to be recovering, and –.”

“And you’d rather we not have some random kid running around the compound. All right, I get it.” Steve motioned to two of the guards. “Seymore, Davis, you guys go let Tony know what’s happened. The rest of you: let’s go find us a kid. Now he’s most likely scared and afraid, so don’t be too harsh on him. Remember, he’s just a kid.” Steve turned back to the trees and began walking. “A kid that runs like a cheetah,” he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Peter knew they were after him, he could hear Steve’s – Captain America’s – voice directing them, telling them which route to take and where to spread out. But he was putting greater distance between them every second, so all he needed to do was keep going and not stop. He could never stop.

Don’t ever stop.

Eventually the seconds turned into minutes, and then the minutes turned into hours.

Peter breathed heavily, swerving in and around the trees. The guards were off somewhere to his left and right, but Steve was still running off in the distance behind him. It was clear he knew the forest better than Peter, as every so often he’d start to gain on him. But Peter would then quickly increase his speed, ducking under branches and running through brush and brambles, determined to get away. Because he had to. He’d run from them for this long, he couldn’t stop now.

But Peter, no matter his abilities, was still partly human. And even he couldn’t keep going forever.

His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat was pouring down his neck and back, soaking into his hospital gown. It was getting dark out, and white dots were slowly starting to appear in Peter’s vision.

“ _He’s at your_ _three,”_ Peter suddenly heard one of the guards say. He was so much closer than he had realised, and Peter started at the noise. He swung his head left and right, searching for flashlights, searching for motion that would tell him where the guards were, and –

Peter jumped over a fallen log as he looked; he jumped just as he had done countless times during this whole escape. Unlike all the other times, however, there was a fox hole on the other side.

Peter’s leg caught inside it and it twisted viciously to the right, a crack resounding through the trees. Peter crashed to the ground, tumbling over and over until he came to a stop.

He tried but failed to bite back the scream that wrench itself from his lips, immediately curling into the fetal position over his injured foot. He stayed there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and fight against the pain.

He could hear them behind him, coming closer and closer. They’d be here in less than seven minutes. He had to get up, he had to keep going. Steve was fast and by the sounds of it, he was barely out of breath. He could go for another three hours if he had to until he found him. And Peter couldn’t let him do that.

Peter got up to his feet, hissing through clenched teeth as he fought to stand straight. Once he was at least somewhat standing, he started to walk.

As soon as he’d placed pressure on his injured foot he collapsed back to the ground, barely holding back the cry in his throat as excruciating pain shot through his ankle, as though a million knives were stabbing through his skin and into his bone.

It was just a badly twisted ankle, that was all. Just a very bad sprain. He had survived on similar before, so he could survive on this. No problem. He stumbled forward, forced to practically hop on one foot as he dragged the other behind him.

It was foolish, he knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was completely ridiculous, that there was no way whatsoever he could escape like this. He had gone from 160 to less than ten in a matter of seconds. Steve and the guards would catch him in no time. They would take him back to the compound and keep him there, interrogating him and staying close to him, and in turn sealing their own fates and everyone else’s. Peter would have failed to keep his end of the deal, and as a result everyone else would die, they would all die and –

Peter’s eyes caught a nearby tree with no branches near the bottom. It was almost completely night, now, and the branches high above were shrouded in darkness. Peter swallowed. It was the only option he had left.

Dragging himself over to the tree, Peter placed his hands against its bark, took a breath, and began to climb. He used his good-foot to steady himself as he pulled himself up by his fingers, his toes pressing against the trunk as he climbed higher and higher. He eventually made it to the branches, which were thankfully still nearly full of leaves. He continued to climb until he was completely surrounded by branches and leaves. Finally, spotting a large branch that reached out from the tree’s trunk, Peter sat down.

He leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes, and took a deep, heavy breath. For what felt like the first time in a very long time, everything was silent.

They would follow him here, he knew, or at least near enough, but they wouldn’t find him. He’d stay in this tree until morning; hopefully by then his ankle would be healed and he could carry on. Maybe by then they would have even given up. They’d already forgotten about him once, they could certainly do it again.

* * *

It was the cracking of twigs underfoot that woke him, and his eyes snapped open. He jerked forward, his eyes and ears immediately on high alert. He swore to himself; he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep.

His eyes searched through the branches and leaves; it was completely dark now, night having arrived long ago. He couldn’t believe they were still searching for him; surely they must have all turned back by now. They’d have gone back and told Tony or Happy what had happened, and they would call off the chase until morning because why would they waste their efforts and technology on him, a random street kid they’d happened to pick up in Manhattan, a homeless kid who’d been off the map since he was fourteen, and –

The footsteps broke through the trees and blonde hair reflected in the moonlight. Peter frowned.

Steve. Of course. Of course it’d be Steve, of course Steve would be the one to carry on looking for a guy he didn’t know, for some kid who’d barreled him over in the middle of his evening jog, whose info all he had to go on was that he’d happened to have helped one of his friends.

For a moment, Peter cursed Steve’s heart, and his incessant need to help others. That need had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, and it was about to get him into trouble now.

Steve stopped a few feet away from the tree that Peter was in, his hands resting on his hips as he appeared to be catching his breath. Huh. So maybe even super-soldiers got tired after more than three hours of running through a forest.

Peter sunk back into the tree, closing his eyes and evening his breathing as best he could. Just wait it out. Wait it out, and he would leave. Just wait it out. Just wait it out. Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Somewhere along the line he’d forgotten that Steve’s super-soldier serum not only gave him super-strength, but also gave him other handy perks, as well. Such as enhanced hearing.

As Peter let out his breath, Steve’s body suddenly stilled, and a moment later he turned, looking directly up into the tree where Peter sat.

Peter froze, his body growing cold.

A few moments later Steve’s eyes stopped moving, and his mouth set in a thin line of determination as he turned to fully face the tree. Peter could only stare back, every muscle in his body growing taut.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who have left kudos and comments - every chapter I am always left in awe of your kind words and support. I hope you all enjoyed this next chapter!
> 
> As always, I would love to hear from you, whether through comment or just leaving kudos. Your support honestly means the world to me! Thank you :)


	10. Together Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right everyone, grab your coffee and your tea - this one's a long one.

“Hey there,” Steve said, his voice light and not betraying a hint of the abnormality of the meeting. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Steve Rogers, you might also know me as Captain America? What’s your name?”

Ah, the old “let’s try shoving my fame in your face so I can make you do whatever I want” trick. Years ago Peter might have allowed his wonder at seeing _t_ _he_ Captain America to distract him, but he wasn’t that kid from Queens anymore; he wasn’t that wanna-be Avenger that trailed after Tony and his crew like a love-sick puppy, desperate to be accepted and become one of them.

Now Peter was a little bit older, and a lot more wiser. And there was no way in hell he was going to let Steve Rogers, Captain America, the Invincible Iron Man, or any one else tell him what to do. Especially if it involved coming down and holding hands as Steve led him directly back to the Avenger’s Compound.

“Uh, hello? I’m Captain America; you’re at the Avenger’s Compound right now, in case you didn’t know.” His hands were still on his hips as he glanced around. “Well, close to it anyway.” He looked back up. “Do you think you’d like to come down so we can talk?”

_Uh, no, I think I’m rather good up here, thanks._

Peter was stuck. He was stuck, and he knew it. Steve had him trapped like a wolf with its paw in a snare. He could snarl and bite back all he wanted, but in the end he was still trapped in a tree with nowhere to go.

“Come on,” Steve pushed. “It’s kind of cold out, I think it’d be warmer indoors, don’t you?”

_I think you and I both know you’re not that cold. You told me once that you don’t even own a winter jacket, that you kept forgetting to buy one because you never really needed it, no matter the weather._

Steve let out a heavy sigh, one that indicated he was clearly frustrated with Peter’s lack of response, but Peter didn’t care. He was not coming down just because Steve was throwing a temper tantrum. Well, about as much of a temper tantrum that Steve could throw, anyway.

Steve let out a quiet sigh and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The light of his screen illuminated his bearded face as he began tapping with his thumb. Peter brushed a hand against his own face, which was covered in light stubble. Thankfully at this point in life his beard took a while to grow in, but it sure itched like hell when it did. He’d have to go find the packet of throw-away razors in his attic when he got back to New York; he’d go down to one of the river’s canals, and –

“Hey Tony….Yeah, I found him…. Yeah, and _you_ lost him twice…. No, I think he’s just a scared kid…. No, don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it… bye.”

Steve clicked the phone off and looked back up into the tree. Peter stared evenly back at him, though he doubted Steve could actually see where he was.

“Look, Peter – it’s Peter, right? Look, we’re not trying to hurt you or anything like that. I know it’s probably pretty scary waking up in a place you don’t recognise. Then finding out you’re with the Avengers is probably the icing on the cake.”

If Steve’s goal was to make him talk, he was out of luck. Peter had been alone for nearly two years now; he had silence down to an art. It also helped that the throbbing pain in his ankle was keeping him thoroughly distracted. He knew sprains weren’t fun, but damn, did this one hurt. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, breathing through the pain.

Steve huffed and Peter cracked open his eyes to look down once more. It was a bit hard to make him out in the dark, but he could see well enough to tell that Steve’s patience was wearing unusually thin. Well, at least he hadn’t lost the ability to piss people off.

“Peter, please – I’m asking you to come down. There’s no use in staying up there. I promise, nothing is going to happen to you, okay? We just want to make sure you’re all right.”

Well there was a multi-variant answer if ever there was one. Was he all right? Depends in which way you were asking. Was he all right physically? Well no, he couldn’t really say that he was at his peak at the moment. His ankle was absolutely killing him, and a small voice in the back of his mind said that maybe it was more than just a sprain, but that would sort itself out soon enough. Was his overall physical health all right? Maybe he could stand to eat a bit more, maybe drink a bit more water, maybe he could stand to put on a few pounds and not sleep so often in drainage pipes, but considering his position in life at the moment, he figured he was making do just fine. How about his mental health then? Well now that was even more of a Pandora's Box. But he certainly wasn’t going to go into _that_ can of worms tonight, thank you very much.

So yeah. Overall, Peter would say he was doing pretty good.

“You know you could at least talk to me. I swear I don’t bite. I’m not Tony Stark.”

Was that supposed to be funny? It was kind of true, though. Out of the two of them, Steve definitely had the more gentle temperament. Where Tony was all biting wit and explosive assumptions, Steve was more quiet and tended to actually think before he acted. Their differences in personalities was why they worked so well together as a team. And also why they fought like cats and dogs.

“All right kid, well I guess if you’re not going to talk to me and you won’t come down, I’ll just have to hang out here then.”

Peter was torn out of his thoughts and he immediately frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at Steve, who looked like he was – no, who was _actually_ now sitting down at the base of the tree, shifting his body until he was comfortable and crossing his leg over the other as though he were getting ready to watch TV or read a book. Peter stared at him incredulously.

No. _He_ _ll no._ No, he was not going to stay out there for the whole night. He was supposed to get tired of Peter’s refusal to speak and decide to go home, decide to _please play again_ another day. He was an Avenger, he was Captain America – he had important things to do, places to be, people to talk to. He wasn’t supposed to be setting up camp for an all-night stakeout. That was not supposed to happen. Now how on earth was Peter supposed to ever get down?

“You know, that was quite a feat what you did, escaping the compound not once but _twice_. Tony’s a bit miffed, I can tell. I doubt security’s going to have a good night tonight.”

Well if Tony was miffed, Peter could only imagine what Happy was doing right now. They’d probably had to stick him in the med-ward himself, after the hernia that had likely exploded once he’d heard. Peter bit back the smile from his lips. It was a nice thought to think that even now he could still drive Happy insane.

A few more minutes passed, and then Steve began to whistle. Peter frowned. Was it Steve’s plan to try and annoy him out of the tree? Peter gritted his teeth and leant back, when it became apparent that Steve wasn’t going to move.

He had been trying with everything he had to avoid them all as much as he could for so long now. When they were close by, he ran. If they spoke to him, he remained silent. He’d been told that if he got too close, if he got too close to any of them, that something bad would happen. That everything he’d been trying to save them from would come to pass, no matter how long he had managed to stay away from them before.

And now he was faced with a choice. A choice to either let Steve sit here, refusing to leave and therefore potentially piss Seftis off and bring him back; or he could speak to him. He could try and get him to leave, he could try and beg him to leave, saving himself and everyone else.

Peter swallowed.

He hadn’t spoken with a single one of them in two years. Even when they’d been right beside him, their own lips almost running away from them, Peter had kept silent. He’d resolutely stayed away from that part of their interaction. To keep them safe. To keep them alive.

If it was a game as to who could stand still the longest, Peter knew he couldn’t win. Steve was a soldier of the Second World War and now an Avenger. His stubbornness was greater than anyone else Peter knew. So Peter had to let him win. Because letting him win now would be the only way to ensure he wouldn’t lose in the end.

Licking his lips, Peter finally spoke.

“Go home.”

Steve jerked, his hands falling back down from behind his head. “He speaks!” He looked up as he turned round, a smile on his face. “For a while there I wondered if you could even speak at all.”

“Please, Mister Rogers, you need to go back home. Go back to the compound. You shouldn’t be here. Please, go home. _Please_.”

“Of course,” Steve agreed, getting to his feet. “Just as soon as you get down from there and come with me.”

Peter took a breath, steadying himself. “I can’t. I have to… I have to get back to New York. I can’t go back to the compound.”

“And we’ll get you back home, I promise. But first we have to finish checking you out and make sure you’re okay. You got stabbed, if you didn’t know, and they said they also found a bullet wound in your shoulder. I can’t imagine those feel all that great right about now.”

Actually, Peter had checked himself out when he’d climbed into the tree. The bullet wound was now completely healed, and the area of his stomach where he’d been stabbed looked as though it had never seen so much as a paper-cut. The only injury that remained was that damned scar that ran down the middle of his breast. And the foot. Mustn’t forget about the foot.

“I don’t need the med-ward,” Peter replied. “I just need to go home.”

The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins for the past four hours – well, let’s be honest, for a lot longer than that – was suddenly starting to abate, and Peter could practically feel the energy in his body beginning to drain.

“And I told you, we’ll get you back home,” Steve insisted. “We’re not trying to kidnap you, if that’s what you think we’re doing. Come on kid; do you really think the Avengers are in that kind of business? We sort of try to do the opposite.”

Peter leaned forward, his hands pressing into the branch of the tree as he gazed down at Steve. Steve still hadn’t, thankfully, found his eyes, and so couldn’t see exactly where he was.

Peter stayed that way for a few minutes. Finally he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Upon opening them, he spoke. “You’re in danger.”

The smile that had been on Steve’s face flickered, but the hands he had on his hips remained where they were. The eyes that had been roaming the tree finally found Peter’s and came to a stop. He squinted slightly, then asked, “what was that?”

“You’re in danger,” Peter repeated, more firmly this time. “If I don’t leave now, you’ll all be in danger. So you have… you need to let me go. You _have_ to let me go.”

The smile fully left Steve’s face and his lips fell into a thin line. “Who’s after you, Peter?”

_The same guy that’s after you. Well, who will be after you, if I stay here any longer. Which is why I needed to leave – yesterday. Why I shouldn’t have ever been here at all._

But of course he couldn’t say that.

“Peter,” Steve repeated, much more seriously this time. “Are you in trouble back in New York? Is someone trying to hurt you?”

This wasn’t what he had wanted to happen. He wasn’t looking to trigger Steve’s hero-streak. But then of course, what else could he have expected? What other reaction could he have possibly have thought to get?

And that was the crux of the whole thing. He _wasn’t_ thinking. He was running on adrenaline and exhaustion, he was running on panic and fear. He was driving on desperation, trying to do something – anything – that would get Steve to leave, that would get everyone to just leave him alone, leave him to go back to his attic where he could crawl into a corner and close his eyes and wake up to find that this was all just a horrible, terrible, terrifying dream.

“Peter!”

“No!” Peter finally snapped. “No, I’m not in any danger. I’m completely fine, but there are those –.” Peter’s voice caught, and he swallowed. “There are… there are a lot of people that don’t like you guys.” That, at least, was certainly the truth. “And if… if they find out that I’m with you, they’ll… they’ll not only come after me, but they’ll come after you too.”

Steve’s shoulders seemed to relax, and he sighed softly. “Peter, I hate to break it to you, but we’re hated and disliked by a _lot_ of people. We get hate mail and threats every single day; people saying they’re going to come after us, going to try and kill us, going to try and kill our family and friends. But we live in one of the safest places in America. Not to mention that we have a lot of talented people hanging around. Whoever is threatening you, we can handle them just fine.”

Peter bit his lip, saying nothing.

Steve huffed. “Peter, what’s the problem? There’s obviously something you’re not telling me, so just spit it out! I promise, we will help you – whatever it is. We’re not going to let you get hurt. We can keep you safe.”

For a long, few minutes, there was nothing but silence. Peter stared down at Steve, and Steve stared back up at him. Finally, Peter spoke.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Steve raised a brow. “Shoot.”

“What if…” He swallowed, then licked his lips. “What if someone were after your friends? What if… what if someone was planning on hurting them, was planning on hurting them badly, and you… and you could stop it. What would you do?”

Steve was quiet, as though seriously thinking the question over. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I’d like to think I’d try and stop them, and –.”

“And what if you stopping them meant that you could never see any of your friends again?” Peter quickly pressed, leaning forward. “What if to protect them, you had to stay away from them? What if to protect them, you could never speak or interact with them in anyway ever again? For the rest of your entire life?”

“Peter, what –.”

“And what if you were told that if you ever saw them again, then they would all die? That if you got too close to them, if you were even in the same vicinity as them – that your deal would then be broken and they would be killed? Even when you had done everything in your power to avoid them? What then? Would you still save them? Well?!”

Steve stared up at Peter for a long moment, the lines in his face set in a frown. Finally, he said, “Of course. Of course I would. If saving my friends meant I’d never get to see them again, I would make that sacrifice.” He gave Peter a hard stare. “And I would make it again in a heartbeat.”

Peter took a deep breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and leaned back down into the tree. He hadn’t realised how fast his heart had begun to beat, and somehow his eyes had begun to sting unusually hot. He closed his eyes, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

Of course. Of course Steve would make that choice. He _had_ made that choice. He’d chosen to end his own life by driving his plane into a glacier in order so that his friends and the rest of the world might survive. He’d chosen to never see them again, rather than live in a world without them. He had been given the same choice Peter had, and he’d made the same decision that Peter had made.

Peter wished now more than ever, that he had only been given the choice to die, too.

“I won’t go back to the compound,” Peter finally said after a long moment. “And you have no right to force me. All I want is to go back to the city. I just want to go _home_.”

He just wanted to go home.

There was an even longer silence after that. Peter began to wonder whether Steve would actually try and climb up the tree and physically bring him back, kicking and screaming, or if he would finally just let him go.

Steve looked round for a moment, before walking over the tree opposite from Peter’s, brushing away the fallen leaves with his foot, and sitting down.

Peter frowned. “You’re gonna stay here?” he asked, staring at Steve incredulously. “What, you’re gonna actually stay here the whole night? You’re gonna sleep out here?”

“Yup,” Steve replied, leaning down against the tree’s trunk, shifting until he got comfortable. He folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes.

Peter blinked, then frowned, shaking his head. “No, you can’t – you’re not actually going to –.”

“I find that decisions are sometimes made best on a clear head and a full-night’s sleep. Here.”

He took off his jacket and threw it at Peter. Peter caught it easily, still looking at Steve with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Steve smiled. “In case you get cold. Goodnight, Peter.”

Peter continued to stare for a few minutes longer, before finally leaning back against the tree with a thud.

There were a million different expletives that Peter could think of, and more than a few that he wanted to say. This was ridiculous, of course. This was all just completely ridiculous, completely unbelievable, completely bullshit, completely… completely….

Peter bit back the growl that wanted to escape his throat, and instead settled for finding a more comfortable spot on the tree branch.

Fine. If Steve wanted to play that way, then fine – he’d play that way. He’d warned him as best he could, he’d all but said it straight to his face what would happen if he stayed – but Steve still refused to be moved. His endless need to be the hero had gotten him into plenty of trouble before, and it was about to get him into more now.

Peter could only hope that Seftis wasn’t watching, that for the moment he was busy somewhere else. It had been over two days since he’d been taken by the Avengers, and the creature had yet to appear, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. It only meant it was a matter of time before he did.

And Peter would be ready. He’d go down fighting, and maybe he’d even get in a few lucky punches when he did.

* * *

He could hear the sounds of birds singing nearby, their voices crisp and clear in the cold air. They were noises that he didn’t think he’d ever heard so close before, save for when he was watching a TV show or happened to be walking through the park.

They were awfully nice, so much so that Peter was more than happy to have them sing him back to sleep.

It was the sun, however, that woke him, refusing to let him drift back into dreams. It shone brightly through his lids, as though it were trying to lift them up and forcefully welcome him into the day.

Groaning, Peter squeezed his eyes shut even more, trying to turn over to get away from the light. It was then that he realised just how incredibly uncomfortable he was, and that he had cricks in his neck and places in his back that he didn’t think he’d ever had before.

The sounds of movement nearby reached his ears and Peter opened his eyes, blinking a few times before suddenly flailing and sitting up like a shot, his wide eyes as he looked down and scanned the area beneath him.

Steve Rogers was lowering his phone from his ear and placing it back into his pocket. He looked up and met Peter’s eyes, and Peter suddenly realised that without the cover of the night, he was completely exposed within the tree.

“Good morning,” Steve said brightly. “How was your sleep?”

Peter could only stare. _He was still here?!_

“I’ve made a decision,” Steve said, not waiting for an answer. “We’re only a few miles out from a road that will eventually lead to the highway. I’ve talked to Tony, he’s going to have a car waiting for us when we get there.” Steve smiled. “If we get there and you’re still feeling fine, I’ll take you back to New York.”

Peter jerked, scrambling until he was leaning forward in the tree, staring over the branches in disbelief. “Woah, wait, what – really? You’re really gonna take me back to New York?”

“Yep. As long as you haven’t collapsed by the time we reach the car, at which point we’re heading straight back to the compound.”

Peter stared for a long moment, before his brows narrowed in a frown. “Why?”

The smile on Steve’s face softened, and he looked away. “I don’t know why you’re so adamant about not going back to the compound, but… but I know what it’s like to be taken to where you don’t want to go. And if you want to go home, and you’re in good enough health, then… well, I don’t see why I should force you to go back. Besides,” he said, looking back up. “I like you, kid. Don’t know why, considering you dragged me on an impromptu run through the forest in November, but I like you. So I’ll take you home.”

Peter stared at Steve for a long while, mulling over his words.

“You promise?” he said at last.

“Sure, kid, I promise.”

Peter paused for a moment, then licked his lips. “Do you give me your word?”

Steve frowned, but smiled. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you give me your word that once I get down from here, you’ll take me right to the car and straight back to New York? Do you give me your word as… as Captain America? As an Avenger? Do you give me your word as Steve Rogers?”

Steve stared up at Peter for a long moment, the smile on his face now gone. Finally, he answered, “Yes. Yes, I give you my word. I give you my word that once you get down, I’ll take you straight back home. No detours, no surprise visits. Just straight home.”

Peter nodded. “Good. Fine. Okay, all right.”

It took him a moment of maneuvering, adjusting his leg and keeping his foot – which wasn’t throbbing as painfully as last night, but still hurt like a bitch – a good distance away from the tree. He started climbing back down on the other side of the trunk, hidden from Steve and his smart, calculating eyes. His fingers stuck easily to the bark, and soon he was back on the ground.

He looked down at his foot, finally taking a good look at the state of it. He grimaced.

The ankle was clearly twisted – oh all right, it was clearly _broken_ – as the foot jutted sharply to the left. Peter attempted to straighten it, but as soon as he put any pressure on the muscles his ankle screamed in pain, and he immediately stopped.

Peter took a breath, steadying the now-racing beat of his heart.

Okay, all right. It was evident that his body was trying to heal it, but just as it had done with the bullet wound, it was trying to heal it too quickly. If he waited too long, his foot would become permanently crooked and he’d be walking on his damned ankle for the rest of his life. Which meant that the only other option was to –

“Peter, what the hell is that?”

Peter’s head snapped up and his eyes met Steve, who had walked round the tree and was now staring aghast at Peter’s foot.

“Um,” Peter started, trying to think of what to say. “I – my foot got injured when I was running. I think it’s just a sprain though, so no wor –.”

“That’s not a sprain, Peter,” Steve snapped. “Sprains don’t leave your foot dangling at nearly a ninety-degree angle. You’re foot is broken.”

Peter huffed, holding back the glare that he wanted so badly to give. Uh, yeah, he figured that out, thanks. No need for need for the temper.

Steve stared at Peter’s foot for a moment longer, clearly not happy, before he shook his head. “Okay, change of plans. We’re going back to the compound.”

“What?!” Peter nearly shouted. “No! You can’t do that, you promised you’d take me back to New York! You gave me your word!”

“That was before I found out your ankle was broken. It was bad enough I agreed to take you with a recent stab-wound. So no way kid, we’re going back.”

Anger flared through Peter and his fingers nearly sunk into the bark of the tree, as he tried not to yell. He stared at Steve for a long moment, thinking of what to do.

There was no way he was going back to the compound, and the only way he was going to change Steve’s mind was if his foot wasn’t broken. Or at the very least, not looking like someone had tried to snap it in half.

Well then, there was really only one option.

Moving a few feet away, Peter sat down on the ground.

Steve frowned. “Peter, what are you – wait, no Peter – Peter, don’t you _dare_ –.”

But before Steve could finish, Peter grabbed hold of his ankle, took a deep breath, and pulled.

The crack that echoed in the trees was a loud one, and the scream that followed from Peter’s mouth was just as unpleasant. Peter immediately fell forward, curling into himself as he fought against the pain and nausea that was rising in his throat, and the white dots that were now dancing in his vision.

 _God,_ what was he think – he should have waited to at least stick a piece of wood between his teeth, or –

Steve’s hands were suddenly on him, pushing him back and removing the restriction that Peter had unknowingly placed against his lungs, allowing him to breathe a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“For God’s sake, kid,” Steve swore, along with a number of other expletives that Peter had never heard him utter before. “What the hell were you thinking? You can’t – you can’t just _re-set_ your ankle by yourself, out in the middle of the damned woods! How could you – I can’t – well you’re _definitely_ going back now, you –.”

“No,” Peter gritted out between clenched teeth. “No, I’m not going back. I won’t let you take me back. My ankle’s good now, it can heal, it won’t –.”

“Broken ankles aren’t like a dislocated shoulder! You can’t just re-set it and keep going like nothing happened. You need to get a cast, or at least a splint, or –.”

Peter pushed Steve back, and proceeded to get back up to his feet – or rather, his foot, keeping the now newly-setted one a few inches off the ground. He hopped for a moment, steadying himself, before looking back up at Steve, who was now all-but glaring at him in angry incredulity.

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Peter turned round and started walking – or really, hopping – away. He could already feel the ankle beginning to heal, as though a dam had been burst and water was finally allowed to flow through. He was sure that within the hour he’d be able to put pressure on it, and within a few hours he’d even be able to walk on it. It was just a matter of time.

He heard Steve growl in frustration behind him.

“I should be dragging you back to the compound, kicking and screaming whether you like it or not. You’re what – fifteen? Where the heck are your parents?”

“I’m seventeen,” Peter replied, not turning round as he continued to walk away. “And my parents are dead. And I’m not going back to the compound. I’ll go to a hospital once I’m back in New York, but there’s now way in hell I’m going back to the compound. So you can either let me leave, or – .”

“Why won’t you go back to the compound?!” Steve shouted. “Why on earth do you _insist_ on going to any other hospital other than theirs? What the hell are you so damned afraid of? Because we’re the Avengers, because of Stark, because –.”

“ _Because they ruined my life!”_ Peter snapped. He turned halfway round, wincing as his foot caught on the forest floor. He met Steve’s eyes and glared. “Because they – because _all_ of them have fucked up my life, and I don’t want anything more to ever do with them.”

“What did we do?” Steve asked, walking towards him. “What did we do to you? Did someone you know get caught in the crossfire during one of the invasions? Did someone you know get hurt when one of us were fighting someone? Did we –.”

“No,” Peter spat. “No, you didn’t fuck me over because someone got hurt, you fucked me over because you all _left_ –.”

Peter caught himself just before he finished speaking, quickly swallowing the rest of the words. He bit his lip and stared at Steve for a long moment; Steve stared back, his frustrated eyes now marred with confusion. Finally Peter growled and turned back round. He placed a tentative weight on his foot, and was pleased to find that it no longer hurt as excruciatingly as before. He began to leave.

He could hear Steve’s own growl behind him.

“Fine,” Steve said, coming up behind him. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done – and believe me, I’ve done a lot of ridiculous things – but I’ll take you back to New York. But as soon as we get into the city we are finding the nearest hospital, you understand?”

Peter couldn’t help the relief that swelled in his chest, despite his anger and frustration. “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll even let you carry me inside like a distressed damsel and everything.”

Peter could practically hear Steve roll his eyes.

He walked, or rather hopped, for another thirty seconds before Steve came up behind him.

“All right,” Steve said. “The car will be there all day, but I don’t think they’ll let it stay there all week.” He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulled Peter’s arm around his. “Let’s get going soldier.”

* * *

“So,” Steve asked. “What’s your story? What were you doing before you ended up in the med-ward of the Avengers Compound?”

They’d been walking for nearly an hour, Steve helping Peter along as they walked over fallen trees, brush, and brambles. They’d stopped shortly after they’d begun to put a makeshift-splint on Peter’s leg, before carrying on. It had been an awkward silence, at first, but it had soon fallen into a calm quiet, as both men focused only on staying upright and walking forward.

Apparently the silence had been too long, though, and Steve saw small-talk as the only appropriate form of conversation to begin.

Joy.

“My story’s not interesting,” Peter replied, though he knew that playing down his past wasn’t going to keep Steve from asking about it. So he continued, “My parents died when I was a kid. I was taken in by my uncle and aunt. My uncle died, my aunt got a new boyfriend, and I decided three’s a company and just a little too crowded for a small apartment, so I left.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “I believe the part about your parents and uncle dying, and your aunt meeting someone new, but why did you really leave? Was her boyfriend abusing you?”

Ah, Steve, ever the blunt one. But Peter supposed that when you were often facing scenarios of life and death, whether for you or someone else, you didn’t have much time to beat around the bush.

“No,” Peter responded. He may hate the man, but he wasn’t going to try and put a black mark on his record. “He didn’t. And neither did she.”

“Then why did you leave? If everything was supposedly fine at home, why choose to live on the streets? Did your aunt have trouble making money? Was there not enough food after her boyfriend came into the picture?”

Peter fell silent for a few moments, nothing but the songs of the last birds of autumn singing in the air. The morning sun shone down through brightly coloured, frosted leaves, as though it were trying to give its last bit of warmth before winter finally came.

At last, Peter spoke, never taking his eyes off the ground in front of him. “I hurt people,” he said. “I don’t mean to, and I don’t want to, but… but people still get hurt. Anyone who’s near me long enough will end up getting hurt, or even killed.” Peter glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Including you.” He looked back down. “And it’s my fault. It will always by my fault. And there’s nothing I can do to change it. There’s nothing anyone can do to change it.”

He stumbled over a larger branch, landing unintentionally on his bad foot. To both his surprise and relief, his foot took the weight and he barely faltered, quickly catching himself against Steve and continuing on as though nothing had happened. His foot was healing faster than he’d thought.

There was a long silence after that, and for a while Peter thought that Steve was going to drop the topic and conversation all together. What he said next, however, took Peter by surprise.

“I have a friend who used to think like you do. He used to believe that just being near me would bring me trouble, would end up with me getting hurt or killed.”

 _James Barnes,_ Peter thought. _He’s talking about Bucky._

Steve continued, “he figured he’ would be the one to hurt me. So rather, instead of telling me what was happening or coming to me for help, he ran away. He stayed away for as long as he possibly could, until I was finally able to track him down and forced him to talk. Until I was able to prove to him that we were stronger when we were a team, and that if we wanted to stop what was chasing him, we’d have to stick together.”

Peter’s mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes stayed looking straight ahead.

Steve didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t understand that if Peter stayed near him for too long, that he would get hurt, that he would get killed. He didn’t understand that in order to keep him and everyone else safe, that he had to stay away from them. He didn’t understand that Peter had been running away from them – from the Avengers, from his friends and family, from Seftis – for nearly two years now, and he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop running.

Maybe he didn’t even know how.

They finally arrived at the end of the forest an hour and a half later, climbing up out of the ditch and onto the gravel road. Sure enough, an empty car sat a short distance away, and they made their way over to it.

Steve opened the passenger door and helped Peter inside. “You still feeling okay?” he asked.

Peter looked up at him beneath slightly raised brows. “You think I’d tell you if I weren’t?”

Steve huffed and shook his head. “Geez, you sound like Stark.” There was annoyance in his tone, but Peter could see the slight twitch of his lips as he fought off a smile. “Here, let me at least look at the stab-wound.”

“No,” Peter immediately said, tucking his arms around his middle and leaning away. “No, I’m fine – it… it feels fine. It feels good. I’m good. You don’t need to check.”

This time Steve did frown as he gave Peter a disapproving look. “Peter I need to make sure it’s at least not bleeding through. Now come on, I promise I’m not going to take you to a hospital, but you have to let me at least make sure you’re not gonna collapse with a fever in an hour.”

Before Peter could even react, Steve’s hands had shot forward and lifted his shirt, exposing the bandages that were wrapped around his lower abdomen.

The linen was clean and completely white, not a speck of blood shining through. Steve hummed and glanced up at Peter, before lowering the shirt back down. “All right,” he said, standing up. “Let’s get going.”

As Peter waited for Steve to get into the other side, he took a moment to take in the fact that he was sitting in an actual, real car. He hadn’t been in one since Before, he hadn’t been in any vehicle of any kind. The idea that he could actually control the temperature – heat if he was too cold, or air conditioning if he was too hot – was oddly thrilling. But perhaps that came after years of living with only the weather for your blanket or your fan.

The things you missed.

Steve got into the driver’s side of the car, and turned it on with his phone – some high-tech feature that Tony had probably made – put the vehicle into gear, and started driving down the gravel road.

“First things first,” Steve said, and upon seeing Peter’s look, amended, “aside from going to the hospital.” He turned onto another road, the sun continuing to climb in the sky. “We need to get you some clothes.

* * *

This was officially the strangest – no, craziest – no, _weirdest_ – day that Peter had ever had. Well, at least ever since After. And maybe even Before.

A couple of weeks ago he’d simply been living his life on the streets, every day the same as the last – wake up, find food, eat food, find water, drink water, go home, go to bed. Rinse and repeat.

He had washed his hands of his old life, and had fully embraced his new one. The life he had Before was a closed book; a forgotten prequel that really wasn’t apart of the main story. Well, perhaps embraced was too strong a word, but he had sure enough accepted it.

And now here he was, sitting in a car in front of a clothing store, being asked by Captain America whether he liked the blue shirt or the red one.

He didn’t like either colours, so he chose brown.

He’d insisted that he would try and pay Steve back somehow, but they both knew that it was an empty gesture. So Peter accepted the gift for what it was. Besides, he really didn’t want to be in his hospital pants and gown for the rest of his life.

Steve let Peter change in the car before getting back in, and soon they were on their way once more – after picking up Starbucks, that is. Steve had gotten a double-shot espresso, while Peter had settled for a simple hot chocolate – white, of course. He’d always had a sweet tooth.

It was terrifyingly normal.

Which brought him to where he was now – gazing out of the window as fields and hills and trees rolled by, the sun now shining high in a cloud-filled sky.

Peter no longer knew what to think about any of this – so he chose not to think at all.

Well, he tried, anyway. Not thinking lasted for only about forty minutes, before all his questions started circling in his head like an endless whirlpool, sucking him in and spinning him round and round, with no end in sight.

First and foremost, why was Steve helping him? He was just a random kid who had escaped a med-ward – not once, but twice – who had been recently stabbed and had an old gunshot wound. And a broken foot – mustn't forget about the foot. Steve should have called in the cavalry and forced him to go back, kicking and screaming. In fact, Peter had been all but certain that he would.

But he didn’t. For some reason, which Peter still could not figure out, Steve had chosen to do as Peter had asked – well, demanded – and had trekked with him through the woods, taking twice the time it would normally take and practically carrying half of Peter’s weight as they walked. Why? Why would he do that? Why would he do all that for a kid he barely knew?

Another question that Peter had was a far more fearful one, one that he didn’t even really want to think too much about, lest his thinking about it made it come true. But… but why hadn’t anything happened yet? He had been with the Avengers for over two days now; he’d been right beside Steve ever since the night before, and they remained in very close proximity now. So how… how had nothing happened yet? Was Seftis watching, was he getting ready, was it only a matter of time, or… or….

Peter was doing exactly what he’d vowed he would never do, by being this close. He’d done everything he could to deter Steve, to warn him and make him leave, but of course the older man had done exactly the opposite. Surely Seftis would see that, surely he would take that into account, when….

“Hey, Peter,” Steve said, suddenly breaking the hour-long silence. “I’ve been thinking….”

Oh, great, well that was just wonderful to hear. Those were his favourite words.

Peter felt his muscles tense as he waited for Steve to finish.

Steve glanced at Peter. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we stayed in touch, after you get back to New York. After all you did save my friend’s life. I’m assuming you know he’s one of the Avengers by now, right?”

Peter kept quiet, staunchly keeping his gaze out the window.

Steve looked back to the road. “Anyways. We’re all really grateful for what you did, so we were wanting to do something to repay you. We were thinking we could set you up with some housing, help you find a job, get you off the streets. I doubt they’re that comfortable, especially at this time of year.”

Minutes passed in silence as Peter continued to not respond. Finally Steve sighed in frustration. “Peter, why won’t – just let us _help_ you. Why won’t you let us help you?”

Peter fought back a glare. “Because –.”

“Because you think you’re going to hurt us somehow, yes, I know – you told me. Many, many times.”

This time, Peter did glare. “And every single time I said it, it was still true. I don’t want you’re help, Steve – I don’t want any of your guys’ help. All I want is to be left alone. That’s all I want. To just be left _alone_.”

Surprisingly for Peter, Steve gave him a glare of his own. “Look, Peter – I don’t know what on earth you’re running from, but if you want to be left alone, then that’s what will happen. You think you’ll be fine, but you won’t. I’ve known too many people who thought they didn’t need anyone else, who thought they could isolate themselves from the rest of the world without consequences, but they were wrong, they –.”

“I don’t care!” Peter interrupted. “I don’t care what anyone else did, or what anyone else thought – you have _no idea_ what –.”

The car had just made it over a small hill, where the skyline of New York City came into perfect view. At that moment, however, the car suddenly began to make noise. The engine banged a few times and the exhaust coughed, and suddenly they were slowing to a stop.

Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, not saying a word. Finally Peter asked, “What happened? Did the engine break, or –.”

“I’m not sure,” Steve replied. He pulled open the door handle and stepped outside, popping the hood as he went. As soon as he lifted it smoke billowed out, and began seeping through the vents inside. Peter immediately scrambled out of the car.

“What the heck –.” Peter started. “Did – did the engine overheat?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, frowning. “That’s what it looks like.”

“But – but how? How did the engine overheat in the middle of November?!”

“I don’t know.” Steve sighed. “I think I’m going to call Pepper for this one. Stark will kill someone if he hears it from me.”

But Peter wasn’t listening. He could only stare at the smoking vehicle, his heartbeat rising with every breath he took.

Steve noticed his discomfort and frowned in concern. “Peter? What’s wrong?”

Peter took a step back, shaking his head. “See?” he said, looking up at Steve. Anger was building quickly in his chest, and he tried to push down the rising panic. “I told you! I told you, I said – I _told_ you that bad stuff happens when I’m around. Don’t you see?! I was telling the truth! I was telling the _truth_ , I –.”

“Really, Peter?” Steve interrupted. “Come on now, don’t you think that’s a little much? Are you honestly telling me that you somehow caused the car to break down? Just because you happened to be sitting inside? Really?”

But Peter wasn’t listening. All he could see was a somehow-failed attempt at blowing the car up; all he could see was Seftis giving him a warning, telling him to get the hell away from Steve, that if he didn’t leave now, worse would follow.

Peter turned round and started stomping away, feeling as though his heart were about to burst from his chest.

“Peter!” Steve called after him. “Peter, where do you think you’re going? Peter, this isn’t your fault!”

“How can you say none of this is my fault?!” Peter shouted, suddenly spinning round. “How can you just stand there and say this isn’t my fault?! You don’t know what I’ve done! You don’t know the choices I’ve made! You don’t know anything about me! You _don’t_ _know_ me!”

Peter wanted to scream. He wanted to tear his hair out, he already had his fingers gripping it like a madman. He wanted to run as fast as he could, to get away from Steve and danger and Seftis and death and – and –

Steve was suddenly walking towards him, his eyes set in a hard stare and his mouth pressed in a firm line.

“Peter,” he said, stopping a few feet away from him. “Peter, I don’t care what you’ve done, or what you think you’ve done. You may think you’re a beacon for danger, that people get hurt just by being around you. But you’re not, and they don’t. People aren’t like that. There are far too many forces at work in this world for that to simply be the case.”

Steve looked at Peter straight in the eye when he spoke next. “I’m going to help you, Peter, whether you want it or not. Whoever is chasing you – whoever is after you – we’ll fight them. Together. And I’ll bring Iron Man, the Hulk, and all the other Avengers with me, if I have to. We’ll get you out of this – I promise.”

Anger flared through Peter like a whip, spreading through his entire body like fire. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Steve, stepping back and away from him. He shook his head angrily. “There you go again, with your self-sacrificing _crap_.”

He turned, digging his fingers in his hair as he walked away, before quickly spinning back round, a laugh on his lips. “This is – this is such _classic_ Steve Rogers! You’re always having to save others, no matter who the hell they are, even when it puts your life at risk! Even when you know you’re going to die!”

He spun round, then round again, continuing to pace back and forth angrily. He stuck his finger out, shaking it at Steve. “You know, Tony was completely right about you! He always said your need to help others was going to be your downfall, and sure enough – here we are!”

There was nothing after that for a few moments, save the rush of sounds of cars passing by. Steve was still staring at Peter with a small frown, but this time there was something else in his eyes that Peter couldn’t quite place. After a few more moments he opened his mouth to speak. “Peter –.”

“Forget it,” Peter interrupted, heading towards the car. He wrenched the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges and got back inside, slamming it shut behind him. He folded his arms and glared out the window, trying to ignore the stinging heat that was quickly building behind his eyes.

Steve didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. And Peter didn’t want him to, because of course that would only make everything worse.

They were only a half-hour out of the city, at the most. They were so close that Peter could practically taste it; but here they were, stuck in an over-heated car on the side of the highway, like a ticking time-bomb. Surely now it was only a matter of time before Seftis came and killed Steve for good, and then would go back to the Avengers Compound to finish the job. It was just a matter of time.

Peter was vaguely aware that Steve was talking to someone on the phone, but before he could properly listen in, Steve had ended the call and started walking back round the car, opening the driver’s door and getting inside.

“I talked with Tony; he said to just wait until the temperature gauge goes back to normal and then carry on to the city. He’s going to have one of his guys pick it up from there. He claims I’m lying that it overheated, because according to him his vehicles never break down. Narcissism is a family trait, I see.” There was a pause, then, “I guess your foot is feeling better.”

Peter frowned, not understanding. Steve pointedly looked over to the right, and Peter followed his gaze. It was then that he realised that his foot – his bad foot, his _broken_ foot – was shoved up against the dashboard, perfectly straight and appearing to not be in the least bit of pain. Peter quickly brought the foot back down to the floor.

“I heal fast,” he said quickly. It was the only pithy reply he could offer.

He waited for a response, for Steve to start interrogating him, but there was none. Finally he looked up, his eyes meeting Steve’s.

Steve was staring at him; his face void of expression. But there was something in his eyes, a question, or likely many questions, that for some reason he was choosing not to ask.

Peter shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the Avenger’s gaze.

They sat in silence for a long while, until at last Steve started the car – which started with no issues, thank goodness – and pulled back out onto the road, heading straight towards the tall skyscrapers of the city’s skyline.

They eventually made it into the city, their car nearly slowing to a halt as they joined the congestion of hundreds of others trying to get into the Big Apple. Nearly an hour later they finally pulled into a car-park, and Steve shut the vehicle off. Peter immediately got out.

Being surrounded by the tall, almost-claustrophobic buildings was such a breath of fresh air that Peter hadn’t realised he’d been missing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, a sudden peace washing over him at the knowledge that he was finally away from the Avengers and their compound – that he was finally home. And they were finally all safe.

Hearing a door open, Peter looked back to see Steve stepping out and rising to his feet.

Well, almost all safe. But it certainly wasn’t going to be long now.

“Well,” Peter said, unable to keep the cheer from his voice. “Thanks for everything Mister Rogers – seriously, thank you. But I think I’m gonna head off now. Hopefully we won’t ever see each other again!”

Peter turned round and started walking away. Before he could hardly blink, Steve was suddenly walking right beside him.

“I’m walking you home,” he said, not leaving even a single inch of room in his voice for discussion.

Peter frowned, slowing to a stop. “Uh, Mister Rogers, in case you haven’t noticed, I live on the _streets_. I don’t have a home, and you’re definitely not bringing me back to my Aunt May’s –.”

“You may be on the streets, but from the way you talk it sounds like you have a particular place that you like to hang out, right? An abandoned building or underpass maybe?”

Peter huffed in annoyance, then started walking again. “It’s an abandoned dance studio,” he said, drawing back up alongside Steve. “At least that’s what I think it is. It has a small attic; it’s not much, but it keeps me out of the rain and snow. It’s not any easy place to get to, so people usually leave me alone. It’s not much, but… it works for me.”

Peter inwardly berated himself for allowing his tongue to wander. He blamed it on the euphoria of being back home and almost back to his old life. Still, rambling like an excited puppy was perhaps something he should try and not do.

They walked for long while, pausing at lights and joining the throngs of people as they crossed the streets. Eventually Peter led them down alleys and back-ways until they were in a far more quiet part of the city, where tourists didn’t go and only locals traveled. They had kept in such amicable silence for so long that Peter nearly started when Steve suddenly spoke.

“Do you know Tony?” he asked.

Peter blinked, then frowned, looking up at Steve in confusion. “What?”

“Do you know Tony?” Steve repeated. “Back on the highway, you said that ‘Tony was right’ about me. So unless you read some article somewhere quoting him – and that’s not impossible, I know – it just… it just sounded like you might know him.” He looked at Peter questioningly. “Do you?”

Peter didn’t know what caused him to say what he said next. Perhaps it was childish ignorance, perhaps it was a breakdown of barriers or his own lack of safety. Perhaps he just should’ve kept his mouth shut and in classic teenage-rebellion chose not to.

Or perhaps it was a need to remember. A need to affirm out-loud that what had happened in the past was true, that the life he had once lived had been real – even if he was the only one who could remember it.

“I did, once,” Peter finally replied. “But it was a long time ago. He doesn’t remember me anymore.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?” Steve asked in bemusement. “Why didn’t you say something when you were at the compound? Or –.” Steve faltered. “Or is he the reason you didn’t want to stay? Did he do –.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Peter interrupted, continuing to walk.“What happened was a long time ago now… it’s in the past. And that’s where it needs to stay.” He took a breath. “Some things are better left forgotten.”

Steve said nothing after that, and the two continued to walk down the street. The sun was now lowering, colours of orange and pink starting to fill the sky as evening started giving way to dusk.

“Is it much farther?” Steve asked after a while.

“No,” Peter replied. He was nearly bouncing in his steps as they drew closer and closer; he could almost see it from here. “It’s on this street, just a few more blocks.”

“Well,” Steve said, “I have to say Peter, you’ve certainly given me an interesting day. I wasn’t expecting to go on a five-hour road trip across state when I went for my job last night.” He smiled. “I have to say, it was good getting to know you. I wish you’d let us stay in touch; at least let me give you a phone number, or something.”

“You’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Peter replied. “I’m just a kid living on the streets, and I’ve been here for a while now. I’ll get by. But… but thanks, anyways.”

Something suddenly clicked in Peter’s mind, and his head snapped to Steve, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, didn’t you say that once we got to the city, you were going to take me to the hospital, and –.” Peter cut himself off, nearly biting his tongue as he all but yelled at himself for bringing the topic up. He swore, something had unhinged his jaw and now he wouldn’t stop talking, and –

“Oh, I didn’t forget that,” Steve said nonchalantly. “I just figured you didn’t need one anymore.” He looked pointedly at Peter’s feet, which he had been walking perfectly fine on for the last forty minutes. “And I have a feeling that if I were to check your stab-wound, it would be doing pretty good, too.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he looked down. His foot! He’d forgotten about his foot!

Peter shrunk slightly in on himself, attempting to deflect. “I told you, I heal –.”

“Fast,” Steve finished. “Yes, I know.”

Steve smiled, and Peter fought and failed to keep back one of his own.

A twist of pain began turning in Peter’s chest, and he swallowed past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. The last couple days had been horrible, and he had done everything in his power to get away from the compound and back to the city, back to the streets, and he had done that – he had succeeded.

And yet… and yet, in the midst of all that panic and chaos, Peter had somehow… he had somehow not wanted it to end. Being back at the compound, being in the same room as Tony and Clint and now on this crazy ride with Steve – it had made him remember. It had made him remember how much he had enjoyed it all, had enjoyed the friendships and comradery that he had formed with all these people from Before. To have people who truly understood what it meant to give of yourself for the sake of others, to have friends and mentors and people he looked up to who could teach him how to be a better hero, to be a better person. To have people who would have your back, no matter what.

It was a memory that left him feeling both filled and empty at the same time, one that Peter knew would be best to try and forget as soon as he could.

They were stepping onto Peter’s block, and Peter knew it was now time to say goodbye.

“Well,” he said. “Thanks again Mister Rogers. Seriously – for everything.”

“It was no problem, Peter.” Steve replied. “I just hope that you don’t stay on the streets forever. You’re a good kid. You deserve more than that.”

Peter grinned. “Don’t worry. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m getting out. I’ll get a job and save up, and I’ll maybe even get out of the city, and –.”

Peter’s words came to a stop as his building came into view, and his heart stopped along with them.

The old dance studio – his home – was completely gutted. Smoke still smoldered in various places from the floor, drifting directly through the fallen roof and into the sky. The side of the building facing them was completely gone; the back of the building where his portion of the attic lay was still standing, but barely. Various walls still stood inside, but were black from soot and partly crumbled to the ground. Police tape surrounded the site, but no one else was there. It had obviously burned sometime within the last few days.

“Peter,” Steve began, “is this….”

As he continued to stare at the blackened building, Peter could feel his heart slowly start to beat again, each one faster than the last.

No. No, no this couldn’t – there was no way… how could – his home, _his home_ was… it was completely… it was _gone,_ it was completely _gone,_ and –

Peter’s feet had started running and before he knew what he was doing, he was ducking under the caution tape and running into the ruins.

“Hey, stop!” Steve shouted behind him. “Peter, wait!”

But Peter wasn’t listening. He had to see, he had to check, had to find if there was anything left, if everything – if everything had been –

He started jumping onto the crumbling walls, all but sprinting up the fallen bricks and running along the ridges, heading straight for the crumbled hole that led straight to his attic. He all but climbed the last wall until he finally made it inside. When he did his eyes grew wide, and everything came to a halt.

What few items he’d managed to obtain in the last two years lay scattered across the floor, nearly unrecognizable and burnt black. Food, newspapers, books, cups and bowls. His mattress and blanket sat in the corner, a crumpled mess of burnt fabric and mangled springs. Peter could only stare.

Everything was gone.

A thought flashed across Peter’s mind and he jerked forward, quickly running across the attic floor.

His tin box of money that he kept hidden underneath the floorboard; was it – was it –

Peter fell to his knees and began searching through the charred remains of bricks and wood, looking for the floor-board, the one only a few feet from his mattress, the one –

The one that was currently open and completely empty.

Peter leaned back on his legs, falling into silence.

The sounds of grunting and falling bricks could be heard, and a few seconds later Steve’s head and arms appeared at the hole in the wall, as he pulled himself up and into the attic. He grunted, then stood to his feet. “Peter, Peter what….” He turned round, taking in the sight before him. He looked down, his brows furrowing in empathy. “Peter, I’m so sorry….”

But Peter wasn’t listening. All he could do was stare at the charred remains of money that lay crumpled across the floor, the tin they’d been kept in laying upside down in the corner.

Nothing. He had nothing now. Everything he had found, everything he had kept, all the money he had saved to try and one day get out of here – it was all for nothing.

Now, he truly was homeless.

What would he do? What could he do? Other than… other than going to the police, letting himself get put into the system, get put into foster care, until he turned eighteen and was then kicked out and left on the streets again, and then he would never be able –

“Peter.”

Steve’s voice had an odd tone to it, and Peter looked up, following Steve’s gaze to the wall on the other side of the room.

The wall was covered in black soot from top to bottom, clearly having received the flames more than the rest of the room. But that wasn’t what had caught their attention, for in the soot were written four, simple words:

_We’ll meet again, Spider-Man._

Peter felt his shock slowly give way to anger, as his eyes narrowed in a glare.

“Peter, do you know who did this?” Steve asked.

Of course he knew. Only two other people in the whole world knew who he was, and one of them had just clearly tried to kill him – again.

The Green Goblin obviously hadn’t given up yet, even after his laboratory had been destroyed. He had already failed once at getting whatever it was he wanted from Peter, but he clearly wasn’t throwing in the towel. Not yet.

_We’ll meet again, Spider-Man._

And somehow, Peter knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who made it through the chapter! This was twice as long as a normal chapter, but I felt that I just couldn't break it up - I wanted to tell it all in one go. I hope you enjoyed it :) 
> 
> Thank you again as always to each and every one of you who've been with me so long through this fic. If anyone's read my stuff in the past, they know I have a hard time writing a short story. But I feel we're making progress :) Thank you all for your kudos and such amazing comments - you are all so amazing, and I'm so honoured to have you reading this fic :) 
> 
> Please feel free to leave a kudo or comment! I love hearing from you all, and your feedback means the world to me. Thank you again!!


	11. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another 10,000+ chapter, because, well, why not.
> 
> Or more accurately, because I just don't know how to keep things short.
> 
> Thank you all so, SO much for all of your amazingly kind comments and kudos! Again, I wouldn't have made it this far without them :) 
> 
> Please enjoy the next chapter!

Steve was staring at him. He had said something, but Peter hadn’t heard. He couldn’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears and the beating of his heart in his chest.

The goblin had come after him. He had tracked him down, had attempted to kill him, and when he couldn’t do that he destroyed his home instead. Everything he’d managed to gain, all the money he’d managed to save – gone. It was gone. And for what?

Because some crazed man in a power-suit thought he had something that he didn’t, and was ready to kill him in order to get it.

This was all just nuts. This was all just completely nuts. All of this was supposed to end after Seftis took everyone’s memories and discarded him like useless trash. He had become no one, he had become nothing – and yet he was still ending up entangled with mad, suped-up men who wanted to see him dead, and superheroes who wouldn’t leave him the hell alone.

“Peter.”

He wished he’d never gotten the bite. He was such a fool, such a complete and utter fool to spend all those years looking up to the Avengers; idolizing Iron Man and Captain America, thinking they were the most amazing people that existed, wanting so desperately to be just like them, wishing people would think he was as cool as they were.

He was a fool. A self-absorbed, attention-seeking fool whose actions – whose decision to try and be a superhero after he’d been bitten by that damned spider – had completely destroyed his life; had taken everything and everyone he loved away from him. His desperate need for love and attention had resulted in him being alone for the rest of his life.

“Peter.”

He wished Seftis had just decided to kill him, instead of sentencing him to this rotten existence he called a life. What had he done to possibly deserve this? Why did Seftis do any of this in the first place? Had Peter done something to him he didn’t know of? Was this some form of revenge enacted on behalf of one of the Avengers? On all of them? What purpose could his being alive while the rest of the world forgot him, possibly serve?

“Peter!”

“What?!” Peter snapped. He glared at Steve, his jaw clenched.

Steve stared evenly back at him, unfazed by Peter’s temper. “I was asking if you knew who it was. If you know who it was that did this. Do you?”

Peter turned back to the writing on the wall. He could practically feel the words mocking him, taunting him, a twisted promise of what was to come. He could see the goblin’s yellow eyes behind his own, and nausea began to rise in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to puke.

“Peter,” Steve prompted again.

“No,” Peter finally said dismissively. He turned and walked past Steve, heading straight towards the hole in the wall. He was jumping out and climbing down before Steve even had a chance to open his mouth.

He made his way out of the rubble until he was standing on the sidewalk again. He could hear Steve stumbling through the debris behind him, as he lifted up the caution-tape and started walking down the sidewalk. He didn’t know where he was going, he knew he just wanted to go.

“Peter, hold up!” Steve yelled behind him. He quickly drew up to Peter, trying to slow him down. “Peter, wait – Peter, just wait a minute. Just – just _stop_.” He grabbed hold of Peter’s arm and Peter immediately spun, turning on him with such a vicious glare that Steve almost took a step back.

Almost. He wasn’t Captain America for nothing, after all. And after the past few years with Bucky, well – he could take anything Peter had to give him.

“Just leave me alone!” Peter shouted. “You did what you wanted to do, you walked me back home even when I told you not to, you helped me when I didn’t want it. Your job is done, so just let me be!”

“Peter, who is it? Who was the person that burnt down your home? I know you know who it is, so just tell me!”

“Why?” Peter sneered, ripping his arm out of Steve’s hold. “So you can go find him? So you can go beat up the big, bad guy for little, helpless Peter Parker? Is that it?” He could almost spit, he was so angry. “I never wanted your guys’ help in the first place, and I sure as hell don’t want it now! So just leave me _alone!_ ”

He began walking again, rage burning through him like fire.

He was truly homeless, now. He was truly a street-bum, in every sense of the word. He was someone with no one and nothing and no where to go. In the aftermath of After, he had at least managed to build a life for himself. The attic had been his refuge, his sanctuary, the one thing that kept him from going completely insane and losing his mind entirely.

But now the attic was gone, along with all the money he’d managed to save up, along with all the items he’d managed to make his own. He now had nothing. He had _nothing_. He had nothing, he had noth –

He sensed Steve coming up behind him before the man had even opened his mouth to speak. Before he could even think, Peter instinctively turned round and pulled back his arm, punching Steve straight in the stomach.

Steve went flying backwards, soaring through the air for a few yards before he landed on the ground and tumbled to a halt.

Peter stared at Steve, his eyes wide and chest heaving as though he’d just run a ten-mile race. It was only when he blinked away the irritation in his eye that he realised he was sweating. That he was sweating a lot. In fact, his entire body was pouring with sweat.

He suddenly felt profusely hot and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping at his shirt that was now almost completely soaked through. His hand brushed against the centre of his chest and he hissed in pain, quickly letting the shirt go.

It was his chest. Whatever was causing his body to feel as though it were literally burning from the inside out, it was starting in his chest. In that same exact spot where the goblin had taken the scalpel knife, where he had cut into Peter’s skin, and –

“..eter. Peter! Peter, what’s wrong? What’s happening, what’s going on? Peter!”

_**Think happy thoughts.** _

The words echoed through his mind as though someone had actually spoken them, and Peter internally shook his head.

Think happy thoughts? Why on earth – how on earth could he think happy thoughts right now? What – what happy thoughts could he possibly have to think about? He wasn’t happy about his attic – his _home_ – being burned down; he wasn’t happy about being with the Avengers, he wasn’t happy about getting kidnapped by a goblin-man. Hell, he hadn’t been happy since _It_ happened; he hadn’t been happy in two years. So how – why would he possibly think that happy thoughts would help at a time like this, when –

_**Think happy thoughts.** _

The words echoed again throughout his mind, and for a moment the voice sounded eerily familiar, as though Peter had somehow heard it before. Except that couldn’t be. Unless he’d been hearing voices in his mind and hadn’t ever realised it till now, which was actually a real possibility, considering –

_**Think happy thoughts.** _

Peter wrapped his arms around his chest and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to focus.

Okay, okay. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. He could do that. If nothing else than to focus on something other than the sphere of fire that was trying to burn through his chest.

All right. Happy, happy – what made him happy?

Well, the first thought that came to mind was of his mother and father. They had died when he was eight, so he didn’t remember everything, but he could still remember some. He could remember his mother’s smile, as she held him on her lap and read him bedtime stories. He could feel his father’s arms wrap around him and give him the strongest hug that made him feel so perfectly safe. He remembered their laughs. He remembered waving goodbye to them as he went to school, waving goodbye as they got on the plane, how they said they would be back in a couple days and that he would like staying with his uncle and aunt, except….

Except they didn’t come back. There were three more sleeps without them, then two more sleeps, then one, then – then every sleep after that. He remembered watching his uncle as he stood at the counter, his hand shaking as he held the phone to his ear, while he –

The burning in his chest grew, and Peter shook his head.

Another memory, another memory.

Of course that would have to be growing up with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Uncle Ben had been so good to him, he had been every inch the father that Peter could have ever wanted. He had taught him how to ride a bike, had introduced him to science magazines, which had then spurred his interest in chemistry, and then the bite had happened, and then he had made web-shooters and a suit and then Uncle Ben had died in his arms, and –

Another memory. Another.

Meeting Tony for the first time had been fun. Had been thrilling. Had been the most exciting moment in probably his entire life. Then to be given his suit, asked to come to Germany, then fighting against Captain America and the Avengers.

Flying through the air on his webs. Swinging up and then down, up and then down – the most thrilling rollercoaster he’d ever been on. Crawling up the sides of buildings, hanging upside down on ceilings, suddenly realising he was stronger and faster than anyone he knew.

“…eter. Peter.”

It took him a moment to realise that the burning in his chest had faded, and that there was someone standing in front of him. He opened his eyes slowly, then looked up to see Captain America. The older man was looking at him, his brows knitted together in concern, the rays of the late afternoon sun shining behind him.

Oh. Right. He was in the middle of the city with Steve. He’d been trying to get away from him, when….

Peter’s eyes widened as he realised what he had done. In the chaos of everything going on, Steve had startled him and on instinct he had reacted and… and he had….

Peter swallowed.

Relief slightly relaxed the lines around Steve’s eyes, and he sighed. “Peter, you with me now?”

Peter did nothing for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

Steve gave a nod of his own. “Good. Look, I don’t want to argue about this anymore. I want you to come with me back to one of Tony’s towers. We can get something to eat, and we can figure out what to do from there. I’ll call someone and they can come pick us up. Will you do that? It’s just until we can figure out what to do next. To just… just gather our thoughts. All right?”

Without even waiting for an answer Steve took out his phone and walked a few steps away, tapping in numbers and holding the phone to his ear.

Peter frowned after him, his arms still held around his chest.

No, it was not all right that Steve got someone to take them to one of Tony’s towers. No, he didn’t want to go and sit down with Steve and have a long talk of what he could do and where he could go next. And what was all this ‘we’ stuff? There was no we, there was no us. There was just him. There was only him. And he wanted to keep it that way.

But he was also hungry, beyond belief. He was always hungry. But this time he couldn’t even remember when it was he last ate – days, he figured – so the offer of food was one he didn’t think he could turn down; especially when he had no means – now not even a hidden money stash – of getting some anywhere else.

So he would go with Steve. He would sit and eat food and endure his questionings, until he could find a time that he could slip back out and disappear into the city, finally getting away from Steve Rogers and the Avengers for good. It was ridiculous, but hunger could drive a man to do mad things. Though Peter was fairly sure he’d gone mad quite a long time ago.

Steve clicked the phone off and tucked it into his jacket as he turned back to Peter. “There will be a car here in twenty minutes,” he said, walking over to him. “Then we’ll go to one of the towers and have supper. I’m sure you’re hungry.” He took in Peter for a moment longer, and his shoulders fell. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Looking back over the remains of what had been his home for the last two years, Peter could only stare.

He was sorry, too.

* * *

The car arrived thirty minutes later – it wasn’t Happy driving, clearly – and Peter and Steve got into the back, closing the doors behind them as they were taken onto the road and back into the heart of the city. Peter was silent the entire way, staring vacantly out the window as people and houses and buildings passed by.

He would fill his belly and then decide where to go from there. For now, he would simply not think at all.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him as they drove, but thankfully he didn’t say a word. He hadn’t even brought up the fact that Peter had hit and sent him flying through the air, something most people couldn’t do to each other, much less do to Captain America.

Which made it only all the more important that Peter leave as soon as he could. Steve likely wouldn’t let him leave willingly, so he’d have to escape beneath his watching eye. But he wasn’t worried; he had disappeared without people noticing before, he could certainly do it again.

They arrived at the building a while later – a skyscraper, of course – and Peter quickly got out. Being confined in a vehicle was making him feel more claustrophobic than he would like to admit.

He stood still, waiting as Steve came round the side to meet him. Steve gave him a small smile and quick nod before leading them through massive doors and into the foyer.

It was a fancy place, one obviously meant for business and conferences for wealthy and important people. It certainly wasn’t a place for teenagers, and definitely not a place for street-bums like him. He’d been in plenty of places like this before, but that was exactly when it had been – Before. Back when he had been attending a high-end school, back when he had been pretending to be Tony Stark’s intern. But that was in the past, and he wasn’t sure he had ever felt so out of place as he did now.

He followed Steve up a large staircase and further into the building. They went down a few hallways and up a few floors, until they arrived at a restaurant. Steve took them to a small table tucked away in a corner, right beside the glass wall, giving them a direct view across the rest of the city.

Peter didn’t pay attention as Steve ordered their food, or when glasses of water were placed down in front of him. He could only stare out the window and into the distance, where grey clouds were beginning to gather together in the promise of rain to come. He didn’t know how much time had passed, until Steve’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Peter.”

Peter blinked and looked over to Steve.

A small, sympathetic smile pulled at Steve’s lips as he spoke. “So what are you thinking?” he asked. “Do you… do you have anywhere else you can go? You said you knew people; can any of them help you out at all?”

Peter waited a moment, thinking of how to respond, when their food suddenly arrived and was placed down in front of them. Using the opportune chance to avoid the question, Peter began to eat.

He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he started spooning the strands of spaghetti into his mouth. After the first couple bites he found he couldn’t stop, and soon it was all he could do not to inhale it faster than he could swallow.

The food was done before he felt he had even started, but before he had time to lament its loss, the plate was being removed and another set down in its place. Peter glanced up at the waiter, then to Steve, confused.

Steve only smiled. “I figured you were hungry, so I ordered another.”

Something in Peter shifted; whether it was Steve’s keen eye or his caring nature, he didn’t know. All he knew was that a knot was now starting to form in his stomach, and his eyes were starting to grow hot.

Ignoring the sensations, Peter turned back to his food and continued to eat.

Three plates of spaghetti and five glasses of water later, Peter was done. He was certain he could eat more, but for now he was satisfied, the ever gnawing-pain of hunger momentarily eased.

Peter heard Steve take a breath, and he steeled himself for what was to come.

“Peter, I want to help you. Especially now. Is there… is there any way, any way at all that you’ll let me help? I would never feel right sending a kid off into the streets with no home to go to; especially when winter’s about to arrive.”

Peter leaned back in his seat, twirling the fork in the empty plate mindlessly. Finally, he said, “I’m not a kid, Cap. I’m almost eighteen; that’s an adult, in the legal world.”

Steve said nothing and Peter sighed. “Listen, I… I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Honestly, I do. And it’s nice that you guys want to help me out, that you want to pay me back, but… but I don’t need it. I’ve been on my own for two years, now. I know how to handle myself on the streets.”

“Yes, but Peter, the thing is – you shouldn’t have to. It doesn’t matter whether your fourteen or eighteen or twenty-five. You shouldn’t have to spend your life without a roof over your head, or food on your plate. Not when you have the option not to.”

Peter stayed silent, continuing to spin the fork on his plate.

After a long moment, Steve asked quietly, “Does it have to do with your foot?”

Peter stopped moving the fork, but didn’t look up.

Steve continued, “or is it that when you hit me, you had enough force to send me flying half a block away?”

Peter waited for only a few moments longer, before pushing his chair back and standing to his feet, the fork clattering against the bowl.

“I’m leaving now,” Peter said briskly. “Thanks for the food.”

He only made it three feet before his senses suddenly flashed, and he jerked back just in time to avoid running into someone. Peter looked up and his eyes immediately widened as he realised who it was.

Tony Stark.

“Nuh uh, kid,” Tony said. “Not this time. You got away twice on me already, we’re not making it a third. Fool me twice and thrice, and all that.”

Tony grabbed hold of Peter’s arm and steered him back to the table, sitting him back down on his seat. He grabbed a chair from nearby and sat down, leaning back and stretching out his arms. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Tony,” Steve began, sounding as though Tony had just ruined all his efforts to calm down a wild dog. It wouldn’t have mattered, though, Peter was still getting out of here one way or another.

“So, kid, what’s your name?” Tony asked. He was wearing his glasses as he always did, aiding in the distance that he always wanted to keep between himself and anyone else.

Peter didn’t even try to fight off a glare.

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter ground out, his fists clenching underneath the table beside him. He felt cornered, and he wanted more than ever to get out of this stupid building and back onto the streets where it was safe. Where he was free. Where he was _alone_.

“Well my name’s Tony,” Tony said, holding out his hand. When Peter didn’t take it, he smiled jovially, bringing it back. “Well you’re sure friendly. But then, Cap always makes the nicest friends.” He looked pointedly at Steve, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“So, how was your day?” he asked, looking between the two. When neither Peter nor Steve replied, he continued, “Well my day was great, thanks for asking. I went to bed last night knowing that a random kid had outsmarted my security not once but twice, and that he was now running around the forest unchecked. Then I find out that America’s great Captain had taken it upon himself to go after him, and I thought, yeah – he has a lot of faults, but surely he can manage to track down and bring back one teenager.

“But of course as I’m about to fall asleep, I get a call saying they’ve both decided to go camping instead, which wasn’t ridiculous in any way whatsoever. And then I find out they’re both going hiking, then taking a road-trip to NYC. Oh, and then they break my car.” He looked over to Steve. “I’m taking that out of your paycheck, by the way.”

Leaning back once more, Tony glanced back between Peter and Steve. “So, who wants to tell me what they’ve learned today?”

Silence.

“Really?” Tony asked. “No volunteers? All right then, volun-told it is. Since the kid is such a chatterbox, I’ll let you go first, Cap.”

“You don’t need to be here, Tony,” Steve said.

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a knot, Cap. I didn’t come here specifically for you. I’m here for a meeting. And it’s going to be a long one, so I thought I’d get a drink before it started. You know, to prepare the defenses and all that. But then I saw you two here, so I thought I’d pop over and say hi.”

Steve gave Tony a frustrated look. “Really, Tony. I’ve got this under control.”

“Do you?” Tony questioned. “Okay then, let’s ask the kid.” He looked over to Peter. “Hey kid, is Cap here telling the truth? Is everything going just fine and dandy?”

Peter was getting tired of this really, really fast. In fact, he figured it was about time to go. He stood back up. “I have to go to the washroom,” he lied.

He started walking and immediately both chairs started screeching as they moved back, and suddenly Tony was at his side, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down once more. “Hah, nice try kid, but you’re using that excuse on a professional. Tony Stark has gone to many bathrooms before, and in fact, for some I’m still there!”

This time Peter wasn’t being manhandled so easily. Twisting out of Tony’s hold, he took a few steps away. “Look, neither of you can keep me here against my will. And I’ve had enough. I’m leaving whether you want me to or not.”

He started walking away, and once again he heard people moving. He tensed, getting ready to fight them off, in the middle of a public place be damned; but to his surprise, instead of someone grabbing hold of his arm, he instead felt something being shoved into his hand.

He looked up and saw Steve beside him, and when he looked down he saw a piece of paper between his fingers.

“It’s my number,” Steve said. “If you need anything – even if you just need to get something to eat – you call me, okay?”

Peter held Steve’s gaze for a long moment, the knot in his stomach starting to grow tighter once more. But before he could do something stupid, like accept his help, he instead gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod of thanks, and turned and walked away.

It was harder than he had thought it would be. A lot harder. Even though he had been trying to get away from Steve and the rest of the Avengers for three days now, now that he was actually doing it, he felt… he felt strangely empty. He should be happy, should be thrilled, even – that he was finally taking them away from danger, that he was finally removing the large target that he had placed on their backs; that now if Seftis saw them, he wouldn’t have any excuse to go after them.

But still, for some reason, his chest hurt. And this time it had nothing to do with the scar.

He stepped into the elevator, refusing to look back. That would only make this all the more harder. He hit the button for the first floor and stepped back, waiting for the doors to close.

Then suddenly, just as they were about to close, a hand shot in and pushed them back. Peter watched in incredulous anger as Tony, smiling in true-Stark-fashion, shoved his way into the elevator.

“Going down?” he asked.

Peter didn’t reply, instead choosing to glare at the buttons in front of him, hoping to God that no one else was getting on at any of the other floors. Of course they did, and Peter waited in silence as the elevator stopped at every floor on its way to the bottom, bringing people in and letting people off. He could practically feel Tony grinning beside him.

This was torture.

Eventually the elevator came to a stop on the main floor and Peter wasted no time in bolting through the doors and out in the mezzanine. To his great annoyance, Tony somehow managed to catch up to him, matching him stride for stride as they made their way to the stairs.

“Whoah, hang on there cowboy. How about we slow down for a second. I want to have a chat with you.”

_Of course you do._

Peter knew that if he just played along a little while more, they’d likely leave him alone for good. He’d managed to shake Steve from his tail, now he just had to do it with Tony. And considering they hadn’t met before now, and the fact that Tony was, well, Tony – he didn’t think it would take very long.

Peter came to a stop just before the stairs and turned to the man, trying not to glare. “What?” he asked sharply.

Tony raised his hands in mock defense. “Geez, kid. I’d better be glad you don’t have a knife, otherwise I’d already be stabbed by now.”

Peter clenched his teeth, waiting.

Tony sighed. “All right, all right. So basically I’m just here to reiterate what the Captain’s said, except say it more, shall way say, _starkly_.” He grinned, and Peter glared from beneath his brows. Tony continued, “basically what I want to say is that we’ve essentially offered you the lottery, and I think you’re an idiot for turning it down. Whatever hang-ups you have, whether you’re an alcoholic or a drug addict, it doesn’t matter. We can get you help for that. You saved one of our own and we don’t take that lightly.

“So just get over whatever the heck it is you’ve got a problem with, and accept our help. I’ll set you up in a fancy apartment, all expenses paid, with three-square meals a day and everything. All you’ve got to do is stand up straight, wear something nice, and get a job. I’ll even give you a reference. What do you say?”

“Thanks,” Peter quickly replied. “But no thanks. See ya, Mister Stark.” With that he turned on his heel and all but ran down the stairs.

When he made it to the bottom, he found Tony had followed right behind him.

“I think you’re crazy,” he said, walking alongside Peter as they headed to the doors. “Seriously kid, you’re a moron. It’s not every day someone gets this kind of offer, least of all from _Iron Man_ himself. Why the heck would you turn it down?”

Peter couldn’t believe it. Tony had always been, well, _Tony_. But this was absurd, even for him. He had always had a narcissistic streak – Peter figured it came with the territory when you were the son of someone as famous and rich as Howard Stark – but this was ridiculous. He was practically dangling his renown in front of him like a ball of string in front of a cat. Well, Peter was not a cat, and though Tony didn’t remember it, Peter had known him long enough to no longer be affected by the sparkles and glamour of Iron Man’s fame.

“Look,” Peter ground out for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, Mister Stark, really, I am. But I have a life I need to get back to, and I’m not letting you, Captain America, or even the god of friggin’ _lightning_ stop me.”

He continued on his way to the doors, and again, Tony continued on with him. He was like a rotten little terrier that just wouldn’t let go.

“You can let me give you some money, at the very least. You don’t look like a drug-addict, so I assume it’ll go towards something useful. Necessary is probably too much to hope for. But even a day at the arcade would be better than out panhandling on the street, am I right?”

“No,” Peter snapped back. “I don’t want your apartments, I don’t want your food, and I don’t want your damn money.”

“Why _not?_ ”

Peter abruptly stopped, spinning around, looking at Tony with wide, angry eyes. “Because you don’t even know me!” he shouted. “You don’t even know who I am! I’m a stranger to you! I’m a God-damn _stranger_ , so why the hell should I let you help me? I don’t want you’re help, I’ll never want your help, so just leave me the _hell alone!_ ”

He was angry. He was so, so angry, and in the brief pauses between breaths, he couldn’t figure out why. But just seeing Tony, much less talking to him, caused his insides to curl and his muscles to tense in a way that made him want to just _punch_ something. Or yell. Yelling was good. Yelling was actually very, very good. In fact, he figured he might as just well yell some more.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, however, Tony’s eyes drifted past him and landed on something behind him.

“Looks like my meeting is here,” he said. He looked back to Peter, his lips settling into a thin line of begrudging acceptance. “All right kid, if that’s the way you want it.” He sighed. “You sure must have someone special to get back to, if you’re running away from the Avengers, of all people.”

“No,” Peter replied, relief settling in his bones. “Just something I need to run away from.”

Tony frowned and looked as though he wanted to say something more, but at that moment the person he was meeting arrived, and the frustration on his face quickly gave way to a fake smile.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. It had taken fighting tooth and nail, but they had finally let him go. He didn’t know what to do or where to go next, but he knew everything would be fine, so long as he was far, far away from here.

He stepped to the side as Tony extended his hand in greeting. In the distance he could see Steve at the rail atop the mezzanine, and he gave a small, quick smile and nod of thanks. Steve had been surprisingly good throughout all this. He’d fought to keep Peter from going, but in the end he had let him leave. Unlike a certain, pain-in-the-ass Stark.

He listened as the person came to a stop in front of Tony, and he knew then it was time to leave. He made to turn, just as the person spoke.

“Tony Stark, good to see you again.”

Everything in Peter came to a sudden halt as the voice met his ears. He heard laughter. His muscles froze, and suddenly every spidey-sense he had was screaming in recognition, was telling him to escape, to leave, to _run away run away run awa –_

“Norman,” Tony replied. “It’s certainly been awhile since we’ve had the pleasure of hosting Osborn Industries.”

Peter turned round, and was met with the smiling face of none other than the man in the laboratory. The one who’d attacked and kidnapped him, binding him in a glass cage. The one who had tried to cut his chest open while he was still awake. The one who had had burnt down the only home he had left. The _Green Goblin._

The man that Tony was meeting.

Before he knew what was happening, the goblin – Osborn, _the_ Norman Osborn – was turning towards him, a fake smile on his face. “And who is this?” he asked Tony.

“This is Peter,” Tony answered, putting his hands in his pockets. “He helped us out a while back. Thought I’d show him around the tower as thanks.”

“Did he, now?” Norman mused. “He must have helped you out a lot if he’s getting a private tour.”

“We were just finishing up, actually. He was just on his way out.”

“Well then, I won’t keep either of you waiting. Peter, it was a pleasure to meet you.” The goblin held out his hand, but Peter didn’t move, his wide eyes never straying from the man’s face. He remained silent, until the goblin dropped his arm and turned back to Tony. “You’ve got an interesting fellow there, Stark.”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know what they always say – kids these days show no respect.”

“Just like we never did.”

“You’ve got that right.”

The two men chuckled, but Peter could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears and the loud beating in his chest. Only one thought kept going over and over in his mind: _he’s here, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here._ The man who’d tried to kill him twice was here, and he was with Tony, and they were having a business meeting and –

“Well Peter, I guess there’s nothing else to do but wish you good luck. Hope you figure things out. I’ll have Happy here escort you out.”

Peter watched in stunned silence as Tony turned round and started walking away, talking to Osborn a mile a minute. The goblin walked with him, but not before turning his head back to look a Peter, his lips pulled in a wicked smirk.

No. No, they couldn’t – they couldn’t leave, he –

“Come on kid, let’s go.”

Suddenly a hand was grabbing his arm and all but dragging him towards the exit. Peter stumbled as they made their way through the doors, watching in stunned silence as the two men disappeared into an elevator. The door in front of Peter closed and he was momentarily blinded, as the light of the evening sun reflected off the glass, the door clicking shut in front of him.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t – he didn’t know what to do, where he should –

Tony had to be told. He had to be told who he was with, that the man he was doing business with was the same one he’d fought in the sky all that time ago; that he’d tried to kill Peter, that he’d burned down Peter’s home, that he –

“Hey. Hey kid, you awake? You with me?” Fingers were snapping in front of his face and Peter blinked, glancing up to see Happy looking down at him with a less than impressed face. “All right, good, you’re back. Now, Mister Stark told me to give you some money, so here –” he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and tucked it in Peter’s shirt, “– go buy yourself something nice, okay?”

Happy stepped back. “Now look kid, it’s my job to say this so don’t start throwing a temper tantrum when you hear it. But Mister Stark is a very busy man. He has a lot of things to do and a lot of people to meet. He won’t have time for you coming into one of his buildings and demanding he give you an autograph or to meet all your little friends, all right? In fact, he won’t have much time for you at all. So if you’re thinking of contacting him again – don’t. Okay? Kapeesh? All right, kapeesh. All right, so… so just go on your merry little way now. It wasn’t nice knowing you.”

Before Peter knew what was happening, Happy had turned around and was walking back into the tower.

Peter blinked, then started forward. “No, no Happy – Happy, wait! Happy, you can’t – Mister Stark, Os-Osborn – he’s – you have to tell him –.”

But Happy was already gone.

Peter was alone.

No. No no no no, this couldn’t – there was no way – he had – he had to –

Bile rose in his throat, and Peter suddenly wanted to puke.

Norman Osborn – _the_ Norman Osborn of Oscorp – he was… he was the goblin, he was the _Green Goblin_ and –

And he was now in a meeting with Tony Stark.

He had to do something. He had to tell them, he had to find Tony and tell him he was in danger, that he –

Someone bumped into Peter and he stumbled back, suddenly aware that he was standing in the middle of the street surrounded by dozens of pedestrians as they walked left and right. Another person bumped into him and Peter could hear the swears of of annoyance muttered under their breath.

Stepping back, Peter made his way to a bench beneath a large oak tree, just off the cement sidewalk. His legs hit the metal seat but he didn’t sit down.

What could he do? Happy wouldn’t let him back into the building, he knew the man well enough to know he’d be watching for him for the next thirty minutes like a hawk. And besides, it wouldn’t matter, because even if he did get inside he wouldn’t have a clue where in the seventy-storey building that Tony and Osborn were. And in the end it didn’t matter, in the end he was supposed to be staying away from them, he wasn’t supposed to get involved with their affairs. He’d already been with them long enough, he’d already talked with them too much, and… and….

He didn’t know what to do.

Peter swallowed, his fingers clenching into fists at his side as thoughts spun through his mind.

Steve was in there. And the tower was Tony’s territory, not to mention Tony almost certainly had a suit with him; he nearly always carried one wherever he went, even if it was to what he thought was just a standard business meeting.

Maybe this was nothing. Maybe this had nothing to do with Iron Man or the Avengers or the Green Goblin. Maybe this was just a normal business meeting between two great business tycoons.

Peter licked his lips.

He would wait. He would wait and he would watch. If Steve or Happy came out he would grab them, he’ d tell them about Osborn and who he really was. But if neither of them showed up, then he would wait for Osborn. He’d wait for the goblin. And when he came out, he would… he would….

The clouded sky grew darker as late afternoon gave way to evening, and Peter finally sat down on the bench.

He would stay. And when the goblin came out, he’d be waiting.

* * *

It was two and a half hours before Peter finally spied Osborn stepping out of the glass doors and onto the street below. The threat of rain was heavy in the air, and Peter watched as the man took out an umbrella and lifted it over his head.

Peter expected a car to show up, a limousine or some other such chauffeur vehicle. But instead, Osborn began heading down the street, walking across the block until he turned and disappeared on the other side.

Without a word, Peter stood and went after him.

He trailed the goblin for nearly ten minutes, until the man abruptly turned into an alley. Knowing what was likely to come, Peter followed.

They ended up in a small alcove. By now it had begun to drizzle, a cold November rain in its last breaths, before it would eventually give way to snow.

Osborn was standing in the middle of the square with his back towards him. Peter stepped into the alcove, waiting.

Finally, Osborn spoke.

“Such a beautiful evening, don’t you agree? I find the chill of winter to be so… _invigorating_.”

Every muscle in Peter’s body was taut, every sense on high alert, ready for any sudden movement or motion from any corner of his eye.

“Tony Stark is such an interesting fellow. Definitely comes from money, you can tell. That is one of the many differences between him and I. I built my industry from the ground up; whereas Stark had his handed to him on a silver platter.”

Peter said nothing.

“The meeting went well, if you were wondering. Very well. In fact, I couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.”

With that Osborn turned, a large smile stretched wide on his lips.

“What do you want?” Peter finally asked, his body completely still as he glared at the other man. “If you want me, then take me. But you leave Tony and the Avengers alone.”

A laugh burst from the goblin’s lips. “Oh my dear boy, do you really think so little of me as to believe that every single thing I do is meant to harm someone else? I was a businessman before I became who I am now, you know.”

There was silence for a moment, neither man saying a word. Moments later a dark grin pulled the edge of the goblin’s face.

He started walking, slowly circling round Peter as the mists of drizzle turned into droplets of rain.

“You do have at least some understanding as to how business works, don’t you?” When Peter said nothing, Osborn continued. “Businesses like Stark Corporation are held by shareholders. They invest in the business, and its their commitment that keeps the company going. They elect a board of directors to oversee the day to day running of the company, and to represent their interests.”

Osborn walked behind Peter, each step echoing against the rain.

“Now, a man like Stark has multiple businesses, and therefore, multiple boards of directors. And even far more shareholders.”

He came into Peter’s view once more, and Peter fought the urge to shout at him, to tell him to just spit out whatever it was he was saying. But he wasn’t an idiot. The goblin was telling him this for a reason; whether it was because he was a monologuing, grandiose moron, or he simply wanted to frighten Peter, he didn’t know – but he wasn’t about to stop listening.

Osborn went on, describing how a shareholder’s loyalty was paramount to the success of a business, and how their influence could direct the future running of the entire operation, how it was ethically immoral for an outsider to try and influence the interests or loyalties of any members of the board.

Finally Peter had had enough. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “What the hell are you trying to say? You’re going to try and influence Tony’s business, is that it? You’re… you’re gonna try and weasel your way into his company? Well I’ve got news for you, Tony has Pepper Potts as his CEO – she can sniff out snakes like you a mile away, and she’d rip you a new one if she so much as thought you were trying to decei –.”

“Do you know where the Avengers get their money from, Mister Parker?” Osborn interrupted. “A huge enterprise such as the Avengers require quite a lot of capital to function, and I can assure you that taxpayer’s dollars don’t go anywhere near it.”

Peter frowned. What was he sayi –

Peter blinked, realisation dawning. He looked back to Osborn, who was nearly behind him once more. “Who cares if Tony’s using his money for the Avengers?” he said. “It’s his business, he can do what he wants!”

“Ah ah ah, remember our little lesson? He can use his money, certainly – but that money isn’t all his. And I doubt it makes his shareholders very happy to know that their money is being diverted into purposes they haven’t agreed upon.”

“But it’s going to a good purpose! The Avengers save people, they save the whole damned world, and –.”

“That doesn’t matter! If you give your money to someone upon the agreement that it will be used in a certain way, it wouldn’t make anyone happy to know the person they gave it to has turned around and decided to use it to their own whims and fancies.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s been ten years now since Tony became Iron Man. If people had a problem with it before, they would have said something by now.”

“Perhaps they did, and you just don’t know about it. Perhaps others sit behind their desks, saying nothing as they watch their money be used to repair damaged buildings, or buy the Hulk twenty pizzas.”

Peter frowned. “You take an awful long time to get to the point. What the hell does any of this have to do with you? Why do you care if Tony’s shareholders are happy or not?”

At this, Osborn smiled and came to a stop, standing squarely in front of Peter. “Why, I care an awful lot, Mister Parker. So much so that I’ve even spoken to some of these shareholders, and many of them have become so aggrieved that they no longer wish to do business with Tony Stark. Which means soon their shares will be up for purchase. And I have a feeling I know exactly who they’re going to sell it to.”

The pieces started clicking into place, one by one, until the picture began appearing in Peter’s mind, and he started to realise just what it was that Osborn – what the goblin – was saying.

“You’re going to take over the company,” Peter said quietly. “If enough shareholders from enough company’s sell all their shares to you, you’ll gain a large percentage of the corporation. You’ll practically own it yourself.”

“Practically,” Osborn smiled, his lips stretching across his teeth, like a viper prepared to strike. “And once I have that foothold, I’ll gain control over the rest of the shareholders and their boards. After that, it will only take a little convincing for them to realise how poor an owner Tony has been, ever since he decided to become the leader of his little band of superheroes, and they’ll pass a vote of no confidence. After that, well… one can only guess at who they’ll elect to take his place.”

The goblin cocked his head to the side, staring at Peter with his ever-present smile. “With no more money to feed them, the Avengers will be left without legs to stand on. They will be crippled. And that will be their end.”

It was ridiculous. The whole thing sounded simply absurd, moronic, impossible.

And yet….

Peter swallowed.

“You can’t convince a hundred people to give their loyalty to you just because you want them to. They’re loyal to Tony. They wouldn’t betray him like that.”

“No,” Osborn agreed. “They wouldn’t. Not the old ones, anyway. The new shareholders, however, might have something different to say….”

“You can’t do this overnight,” Peter spat. “You can’t – I… I’ll find Tony. You know I will. I’ll tell him everything, I’ll tell him what you’re planning to do, and –.”

The goblin suddenly barked out a laugh, the same laugh that had haunted Peter’s dreams ever since he’d woken up in that glass cage.

“You think I’ve only just thought of this now?” the man asked. “You think I haven’t had this plan in motion for over a year, now? You think I haven’t been planting my seeds one by one, waiting for them to take root, watching them grow into fruition? Really?”

The goblin laughed once more, before his laugh abruptly ended, the smile on his face abruptly pressing into a thin line. “The shareholders will jump ship in a week. After that, Stark Industries will be mine, and the Avengers will be no more.”

Realisation of just what was happening settled on Peter’s shoulders like a physical weight, feeling as though he were suddenly being pressed in from all sides.

The Compound would be gone. The training facilities would be gone. The refuge and home that belonged to Captain America, Bucky, and all of the Avengers would be no more. They’d have no real home to go to. They didn’t have jobs, they didn’t make money like regular people, they’d be left completely on their own, with no one else to turn to.

They were silent for a long moment after that, neither saying a word as the rain began to now fall in earnest, echoing against the brick walls and trees that surrounded them.

After a long moment, Peter finally asked, “Why tell me? Why tell me this? You know I’ll find a way to tell Tony; you know I’ll try and warn him, somehow. Why would you go and tell me your whole plan, when –.”

“Because I want you there, Mister Parker,” Osborn said abruptly. He leaned forward, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I want you there to witness the Avengers’ fall. And I want you to fall with them.”

This time, it was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Right. Do you honestly think that you can kill them? That you can kill Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Thor, all of them? Really?” Peter shook his head. “I think you’re the one that’s the moron, Mister Osborn. Many have tried to kill them and they’ve all failed. What makes you think you could do any different?”

“Oh please,” Osborn replied. He straightened his coat, lifting the umbrella so that it was hovering over him once more. “I am many things, Mister Parker, but even I know that I could never kill one of Stark’s superheroes. But without Stark’s money sustaining them, the Avengers will be scattered. And when they are scattered, that will be the best time for him to strike.”

He started walking past Peter, heading for the alcove’s entrance.

Peter turned as he went, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Who’s ‘him’?”

Osborn looked back, giving one last smile before he left. “My dear boy, I believe you and I both know who he is.” With that, he turned and disappeared behind the brick wall.

Peter stood in stunned silence for a moment, before his legs suddenly started moving again. He ran out into the alley and looked out onto the street, just in time to see Osborn getting into a black car and shutting the door behind him. The car quickly left, and Peter was alone.

* * *

Joe was having a bad day.

First he had Jameson yelling at him – though really, that was nothing new. In fact, it would probably be an even worse day if Jameson hadn’t yelled at him. Or at half the staff in the office. Or at every single one of the interns.

Joe sighed. Though it was completely normal, the man’s tirades could sure be tiring.

No, it wasn’t simply the fact that Jameson was trying to beat yesterday’s decibel meter for how loud he could shout, but rather it was a conglomeration of many things. It was the fact that it was now pouring outside – freezing rain, to be more exact – and he had no umbrella. It was the fact that he’d spilled coffee over himself this morning, and he could still feel the wet patch on his knee. It was the fact that he was supposed to be home over an hour ago, but Jameson had demanded he stay later and make sure the intern did his job right in developing pictures in the dark room.

It was the fact that when he called and told his wife as such, he’d been met with an angry huff and slamming of the phone back onto the receiver. He couldn’t blame her, though. This was the fifth night in a row he was late, and if he’d just spent two hours cooking supper, he’d be mad too.

Joe sighed again, leaning back in his chair. Well, there was no point in worrying about it now. What was done was done. Now all he had to do was wait until the intern got back from his smoke break, and –

He heard a door slam, follow by rapid footsteps as they came down the stairs. A second later the door burst open, and Joe looked up to see the intern – David – stepping inside, his eyes wide and brows furrowed as though he’d just seen someone grow two heads.

“Dave?” Joe called. “What’s the matter?”

Dave said nothing for a moment, looking back to stare at the door in bemusement, before turning back to Joe, his unlit cigarette still in his hand.

“Uh, well… you see, I know it’ll sound crazy, but there… there’s a guy up there.”

Joe blinked. “Say again?”

“There’s a guy up there! He’s just… he’s just sitting there, in the rain. Doesn’t even have an umbrella. He’s just… he’s just staring, or… or something.” He gave Joe a confused look. “I thought the roof could only be accessed from our floor? How did he get up there? Who is he?”

Somehow, Joe knew exactly who it was.

Getting to his feet, Joe took the umbrella from the intern’s hands before pushing through the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he called out, making his way up the stairs and to the roof.

When he opened the door, he was met with the pounding rain against the roof’s cement. It was still light out, but the grey clouds that covered the sky cast the city in a gloomy light. Joe’s eyes quickly fell on the boy who was sitting on the roof’s ledge, his legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them as he stared out into the city. His brown hair was matted against his head and his clothes were completely soaked through; he’d clearly been out here for a while. Joe’s mouth settled in a thin line and his heart jumped in his chest as he recognised who it was.

Peter.

He stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do, before finally opening the umbrella and stepping out into the rain.

* * *

“An intern came down all spooked, saying he’d seen some random guy sitting on the roof in freezing rain. I had a suspicion of who it was, and sure enough, here you are.”

Peter slowly blinked, turning his head to see Joe coming towards him. He frowned, belatedly realising that he must be on the Daily Bugle’s building. He hadn’t been paying attention when he’d started climbing up the wall; all he’d been thinking about was getting away from pedestrians and cars and noise so he could just _think_.

Not that he’d been able to do any of that since coming up here. Once he’d made it to the top and sat down his mind had gone empty, and he’d found that all he could do was stare into nothing. There was just too much to think about, and he found it was easier to just not think at all.

He turned back to face the city, listening as Joe came up beside him.

“Glad to see you’re alive,” the man said, a clear question behind the remark. It suddenly occurred to Peter that the last time he’d saw him, he’d been escaping from his apartment in the middle of the night as his powers went haywire. Guilt flooded through him, but he didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it – with every fiber of his being. He had wronged Joe when the man had only ever shown and given him kindness, when the man had been one of the only people to acknowledge he existed. But he’d had to leave. He hadn’t had any other choice.

“Peter….” Joe was frustrated, the tone of his voice conveyed that much. “Peter, what are you doing out here? Don’t you have any place else to be instead of catching your death in the rain? Is that how you got so messed up last time? Did you finally decide to take a hit with someone, and stayed out all night in the snow?”

Peter didn’t reply.

Joe huffed, trying to hold back the anger that was rumbling in his chest. “You know Pete, I’ve been trying to do what I can to help you. I even gave you a room in my home. But you threw it all away, and I – well I don’t know how else I can help you. My generosity and the generosity of my family can only go so far.”

Again, Peter stayed silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of the rain falling around them.

Joe frowned deeply at Peter, waiting for a response. Waiting for the kid to do something, to say something, to at least give an excuse as to why he’d left and returned to the streets, without even so much as a goodbye. It angered Joe; here he had thought they’d been making so much progress, that they were on a road where Peter could actually one day get off the streets, where he could find a respectable job and make an honest living for himself. But now it appeared he had thrown it all away, and for what? Drugs? His life on the street, whatever that was?

Well, if that’s what he wanted, then fine. Joe was done helping him.

“Well Peter, if that’s the way you want it, then all I can say is that it was nice knowing you. Good luck, kid. I hope you figure your life out.”

As Joe turned to leave, a quiet voice sounded through the rain.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

Joe stopped and turned round, a frown on his face. “What was that?”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter repeated. “Or at least… I was.”

Joe stayed where he was for a few moments, before taking a few steps back towards Peter. “And who is this… _‘Spider-Man’_?” he asked.

Peter was still looking away from him, still staring unseeingly out into the distance, the rain splashing unnoticed against his face. “Spider-Man… ” he started, “Spider-Man… helped people. He saved them from being mugged, from being raped, from being hurt. He tried to protect people, when heroes like Iron Man and Captain America were too busy to do it.”

Joe paused for a moment, then said, “Sounds like a pretty dangerous gig, if you ask me.” Peter said nothing, and Joe continued, “So where’s Spider-Man now? Why did you stop?”

Peter swallowed. The next words fell out of his mouth before he even had a chance to stop them; a dam that was bursting and water now pouring through.

“I didn’t have a choice.” He swallowed. “I was an Avenger, once. I worked with Iron Man and Captain America and even the Winter Soldier. I knew the Hulk and Thor, the Black Widow and Hawkeye. They were my teammates. They were… they were my friends. People I looked up to. People I wanted to be like. I was with Tony Stark on Titan fighting Thanos. I was with them when we won. He helped me become who I was.”

Another long pause, then Peter continued, “Two years ago were fighting someone. They were going to win, so I made a deal. In exchange for the lives of my friends and family and millions of others, I had to give up their memories of me. I had to let them forget I ever existed. So I did. I made that choice. I had to make that choice. There was no other choice I could possibly make, I had no other way out, I –.” Peter stopped himself, un-clenching the fingers that had curled into his fist. He took a breath. “I woke up in an alleyway here in New York, and….”

“And you’ve been on the streets ever since.”

Peter blinked, then frowned, finally turning back to look at Joe with incredulous eyes. “You believe me?” he asked.

Joe walked over to the wall, stopping when he was in front Peter. Peter tried to read him, tried to gauge his reaction, but between the rain and the fading light, he couldn’t tell what the older man was thinking.

“That’s rough, Pete. Not gonna deny it. You got dealt a bad hand.” Joe sighed. “Now is that the reason you’re up here, sitting on the ledge of a skyscraper at eight-o-clock at night? Or is something else bothering you?”

Peter blinked away droplets of rain as they fell in his eyes, putting words to everything that moments ago he hadn’t even been sure he could speak. “There’s a man. He’s going to try and take over Stark Industries. After that, he’s going to go after the Avengers. He’s going to kill all of them. And I don’t… and I don’t know what to do.”

Joe said nothing for a long moment, wiping drops of rain that had managed to hit his face. Finally he looked up and met Peter’s eye. “Well I think the answer is obvious; just go tell ‘em. You don’t have to fight anyone, you just gotta give ‘em a heads up. What’s so hard about that?”

He made it sound so simple. Made it sound so easy. But it wasn’t. It was so, so much more complicated than he knew.

“Part of the deal I made was that I had to stay away from them. That I not get involved with their affairs. If I break that, they could get hurt, or killed.”

He’d been running from the Avengers for two years now. To make the decision to turn around and run towards them, to try and save them, it went against everything he had come to believe in. It went against everything he had trained himself not to do. It went against what little purpose he had left in his life.

Peter swallowed.

He’d finally gotten away from them. He’d finally made them safe. To do exactly what Seftis had told him not to, to help them, he – he –

“Kid, let me give you some advice.” Peter’s head turned, and met Joe’s eyes. The man stared back at him, one brow slightly raised. “I know you probably think the best way to keep your friends safe is to stay away from them. But tell me this: which is the better enemy – the one you know is coming, or the one you know nothing about? Because from the sounds of things, there ain’t no choice you can make where there ain’t gonna be someone tryin’ to hurt you or your friends. They’re gonna get hurt no matter what. You just hafta decide which road you’re gonna take.”

Silence fell over the rooftop, the rain continuing to pour as more clouds rolled in beneath them, the last light of day fading away.

Peter’s heart was beating louder and louder in his chest, the weight on his shoulders suddenly unexpectedly lifting, because… because he was….

He was right.

He was right. Joe was right. With the goblin’s decision to go after Tony and Stark Industries, Peter didn’t have any other choice. The Avengers were going to be attacked; whether it was because of him or because of Osborn, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they needed to be prepared. They needed to know.

And Peter had to tell them.

Looking over to Joe, Peter said, “You’re right.” He started getting up, until he was fully standing on the building’s ledge. “You’re right!”

He was right. And Peter had been such an idiot.

He had to leave. He had to go, now, and warn them. He’d tell them what Osborn had planned, even if Seftis was watching. And if Seftis got upset, well… he’d deal with it then. But right now, Osborn was the more imminent threat. And he had to be stopped.

The goblin said they had a week. Which meant they only had a week to prepare, to get ready for him, to try and stop what he’d already done.

Which meant Peter had to leave – now.

He stared at Joe, and Joe stared back at him, a small, bemused smile on the older man’s face. “That’s good, Pete,” he said, then he started motioning him over. “Now how about you come down from there, and –.”

Peter suddenly bent down, meeting Joe’s eye evenly. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

Joe smiled. “You’re welcome, Pete. Now get down from there before you hurt –.”

Peter stood back up, leaning back on his heels. “I’ll come back Joe, I promise.”

Joe’s eyes widened and he jerked forward, attempting to grab him, but before he could reach him, Peter had leaned too far and fell backwards off the ledge.

“PETER!”

Joe ran forward and leaned over the edge, just in time to hear a ‘snap’, and see what looked like a rope latching onto the window a few floors below. He could just barely make out a figure swinging along underneath, before the rope fell away and the figure disappeared into the clouds.

 _Well_ , Joe thought after his heartbeat had started to slow back down. _I’ll be damned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I hope this made sense. As you can tell, I am not a business woman or really know anything about business besides what you hear in movies and can find on google, so if I got any of that wrong, I am so, so sorry! I hope it all made sense. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave a comment or kudo! Your support means the world to me, and I'd love to hear from you :) 
> 
> Thanks again!


	12. The Eleventh Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update. Real life, along with just a more difficult chapter to write, got in the way. Thank you all so much for being patient! I hope you enjoy this next part :)
> 
> Just a reminder to take a look at the tags from time to time. I update them whenever I am able to think of more to add. If there are any elements of the fic that you don't like, best to stop while you're ahead (though we are pretty far in at the moment, but there is a lot more to come). Thanks! <3

_**I needed someone to hold it. I needed someone to take it. You were the perfect vessel. I’m sorry. It had to be you.** _

…

_**I’m sorry.** _

…

Peter woke, the shadows of a voice still echoing in his ears.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight that was shining through the branches. He sat up, taking a moment to fully wake.

He was sitting under bushes and trees, in a small, miniature park that was tucked round the corner of a building. It was clearly neither tended to nor visited often, and so had made the perfect spot for Peter to sleep.

Leaning forward, Peter rubbed his arms, shivering in the cold winter air. He watched as his breath drifted out in front of him, his eyes roaming past the trees and ground that were covered in a thin layer of ice from the night before.

It was the second day. Or day one, depending how you looked at it. He had less than a week now to warn Tony and the Avengers of Osborn’s plan to take over Stark Industries, of his plan to cut the legs out from the Avengers and leave them scattered and weak. A plan that Peter was determined to stop.

It was slightly jarring. For two years he had spent his days avoiding the Avengers, had made it his life’s mission – what was left of it, anyway – to keep them safe the only way he knew how. And now here he was, doing the exact opposite. Part of him still worried whether he should actually be doing this, whether Seftis would see his intentions and finally decide to attack.

He knew this was a possibility. He knew this, and yet….

Peter stood, and began to walk.

He went back to the tower first, hoping he could sneak inside and find someone, anyone, that he knew that he could pass the message to – whether it was Happy, Pepper, or any of the security he’d gotten to know over the years. But no one had been there, and without Captain America escorting him, he was quickly thrown out.

So what now?

Peter stepped back onto the sidewalk, eyeing the tower, wondering if he’d be able to somehow climb up into an empty window and demand to speak to Tony, even if he had to take someone hostage, and –

Peter blinked, then swallowed, quickly shaking his head.

No, no he couldn’t do that. He had never… no. Just the thought of it made his stomach roil.

No, there had to be another way. There _had_ to be.

The streets were getting crowded, so Peter began walking, not knowing where he was going.

He could write a letter. He could write to them, could say he was a secret informer, that he worked with Osborn and knew everything that he was doing; could explain what was happening and how there were people planted in Tony’s company that were going to betray him.

Except… except if he knew Happy, then the man would likely have the letter thrown straight in the trash; he would believe that it was nothing but one of the countless other letters asserting some danger or another that needed the Avenger’s attention, but which had no evidence to back it up. He would probably even believe it a threat, another piece of hate-mail to add to the mountain of others. Heck, it probably wouldn’t ever get read in the first place.

No. If Peter wanted to actually warn them in time, and make sure that they heard him, he’d have to find another way.

Stopping at a corner, Peter stared out past the buildings and into the sky beyond.

He could walk to the compound. Or find a way to hitch-hike there. It was over a four-hour drive away, which meant it would probably take almost a week to walk there; it would be cutting it close, but he might be able to make it in time, and –

Peter shook his head again, harder this time. No, no that was even more a ridiculous idea than climbing up into the tower. If he thought he could actually _walk_ to the compound, then he was completely mad.

The walking-signal turned on, and Peter began to cross.

What other option then was there? If he couldn’t find them, if he couldn’t contact them, then how else could he possibly warn them? It was ridiculous. He lived in an age where anyone in the world could make themselves heard. The problem came when you wanted someone to actually _listen_.

A cold breeze picked up and Peter shivered, hard. It was only getting colder and colder, and without the attic, he’d have to find somewhere else to sleep at night. He would have to suck it up and go to a shelter, if there were any beds available. He’d done it before, once, and had vowed never to do it again. But he supposed vows were useless when the only other option was to freeze for eight hours. He had greater endurance and sustainability than other humans, sure, but even he wasn’t willing to test just how far his limits went.

Peter brought his cupped hands to his mouth and breathed into them, trying to warm his freezing fingers. His stomach rumbled and he shivered again. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, wondering where he could go to eat. Not for the first time he cursed his advanced metabolism; if he were like anyone else, he’d still be surviving on the three-plates of spaghetti from the night before. But of course he wasn’t and he couldn’t, and now that his stomach actually remembered what food tasted like, he was –

His fingers touched something in his pocket and Peter frowned, coming to a stop. Someone bumped into him and muttered under their breath, and Peter quickly stepped to the side. With a frown, Peter pulled the something out of his pocket.

It was a piece of crumpled paper. When he opened it, Peter’s eyes immediately grew wide.

It was Steve’s number. It was the piece of paper that he had shoved into his hand just as he’d left the restaurant, the piece of paper that Peter had hastily and begrudgingly accepted and had stuffed into his pocket, determined to eventually throw it out and forget about it.

Well he had certainly forgotten about it, but thank God he hadn’t thrown it away.

He hadn’t realised how fast his heart was beating until it was pounding in his chest.

This was it. This solved everything. How could he have even forgotten it? Here he was scrambling like a mad-man, trying to figure out how on earth to contact the Avengers, and here he had the answer in his pocket the entire time! He was such a _moron_.

Lifting his head, Peter began looking back and forth, searching for somewhere – anywhere that he could get a-hold of a phone. Well of course, there were phones all around him – nearly everyone had one in their pocket. But no one in their right mind would let him use it. And of course no store would let him use theirs. Not in New York City, anyway.

The only other thing he could think of was a payphone. While many had been dismantled and taken away, they hadn’t yet completely gone the way of the dinosaur.

Looking round, Peter began to walk.

He’d have to find one. He’d have to get coins, too. He’d beg people for money if he had to, his pride be damned. He’d get enough and he’d place the call and – and –

And everything would be fine. Tony would catch Osborn red-handed, and everything would be wrapped up with a neat and tidy bow. It would all be over as simple as that, and he’d be able to go back to the life he had before he’d made the idiotic decision to help Clint Barton in the alley.

Well, not entirely, not with the attic gone. But he could at least get away from the life he was in at the moment. And that was good enough.

The sky was clouded over again, but this time is seemed merely overcast rather than a mark of future rain or snow. Which was good, as it would make Peter’s job a lot easier.

It was embarrassing, of course, and humiliating. It was demeaning. But he did it. For nearly two hours Peter wandered the streets, begging people for money, while keeping his eye out for any payphone nearby. He used any story he could think of – claimed he was neglected by his parents, claimed his guardians abused him, claimed he was an orphan that had been lost in the system. Well, the last one wasn’t exactly a lie, but Peter had never truly thought of himself as a real orphan before. Until now, at least.

Some people begrudgingly gave him a few coins, some even shoved a couple of dollar bills in his hands, though they were actually useless. He ignored the glares he got from other panhandlers on the street, knowing they weren’t pleased that a random kid was working their block. But Peter didn’t care. They could come after him later if they wanted to, because right now there was something else so much more important at stake.

Eventually Peter had made enough to at least place a minute-call, he figured. At least he hoped it would be enough. At any rate, he was tired of the angry glares and disgusted looks, so he would rather finish the second part of his mission and actually find a phone to use.

It took him another hour of wandering, but eventually he finally found one, tucked away on a corner on a quiet street. It was covered in graffiti and clearly old and well-used, but all that mattered was that it worked.

There was a moment as Peter stepped into the booth where he wondered if the phone actually would work, or if it was merely a prop, an ode to an old way of life. But when he picked up the phone and heard the dial-tone, he sighed in relief.

Now, he only had to make the call.

Thumbing in the coins, Peter began punching in the numbers from the paper, trying to read them over the shaking of his hands.

It was nearly over. It would be nearly over soon.

After a few moments the call connected, and the phone began to ring. Peter waited as it rang, then rang again. Then it stopped. The dial-tone came back. The sound of money being returned in the slot below echoed in the booth.

Peter blinked, his brows furrowing together in confusion.

He waited a moment longer, but the phone remained silent. Finally he hung up, unable to understand what had just happened.

The call hadn’t connected. That must be it. Perhaps he had just been in bad range, and needed to try again.

Taking the coins from the dish and slipping them back in the slot, Peter did.

The call connected, and Peter’s hopes rose once again. But once again, the call soon stopped, and the dial-tone returned.

Peter tried a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. But each and every time was the same; each and every call didn’t make it through.

The panic that had been dwelling underneath Peter’s skin returned, as he realised that for whatever reason, the number Steve had given him wasn’t working. Whether Steve had messed up a number or had gotten a new phone, he didn’t know. He simply knew that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get through.

For a moment a small voice whispered that maybe Steve was ignoring his call, that he had intentionally given him the wrong number, or had changed the number as soon as he had given it; that he had wanted to make him feel like he cared, when really all he had wanted was for Peter to be gone, as much as Peter at the time had wanted to leave. The idea hurt more than he had thought it would, and Peter swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.

Blinking, Peter clenched his teeth. Angrily, he shoved the coins in the slot once more and punched the buttons again, the number now firmly ingrained into his mind. Well damn Steve if he didn’t want to answer.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

Damn him if he didn’t want to talk to him or deal with him.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

Damn him if he thought he could give him hope, only to wrench it away from him at the last second.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

Because right now it didn’t matter – right now there was something so far more important than himself at stake, and whether they wanted his help or not, he was at least going to give them the courtesy of a heads up that their entire life was about to be destroyed.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

For all they had done for him in the past, it was the least he could do now. Even if they hated him, even if they wanted nothing to do with him, even if they thought him lesser than anything else in the world, it didn’t matter.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

Because he had to do something. He had to help them, he had to warn them, if not for their sake then for the sake of everyone else in the world, because without them – without the Avengers – the wills and desires of evil men and women and creatures unknown would be allowed to roam, would be allowed to move unchecked, would be allowed to grow and build and destroy, and people would suffer. And people would die.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.

And Peter couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let that happen, not when he had a chance to stop it. Not when he had a chance to save them from that fate.

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again. His hand was growing hot.

And if the Avengers didn’t care, if they couldn’t care less about what was happening, then damn them. Damn them all to hell, because what the hell use were they if they weren’t there when people needed them the most?

The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again. His hand was growing hotter.

All they needed to do was answer their stupid phone. Simply answer the phone, listen to him for thirty seconds, and that was it. That was all he asked. But of course they wouldn’t, of course they would ignore him completely and throw him out with the trash, just like they’d already done, and all they needed was to answer the phone, answer the phone, answer the _damn_ _phone_ –

“ _Hello?”_

Peter ground to a halt, his hand mere inches away from hanging the phone back on the receiver when the quiet, tinny voice rang out.

For a moment Peter just stood there, his eyes wide and heart beating loudly as heat still coursed through his veins. But after a second his brain clicked back to life, and he quickly brought the phone back to his ear.

“ _Hello? Is anyone there?”_

“Mister Rogers! Mister Rogers, it’s – it’s –.” His tongue was so tied that he could barely speak, stumbling over the words that he was so quickly trying to get out.

He had answered. Steve had answered, he had actually _answered_ –

“ _Peter?”_ Steve sounded confused. _“Peter, is that you?”_

Swallowing, Peter tried to calm himself down. “Yes, yes Mister Rogers it’s me – it’s Peter Parker. You gave me your phone number, and I –.”

“ _Peter, how the heck did you get through? I’m in the middle of –.”_

“Mister Rogers, listen,” Peter interrupted. “Osborn – Norman Osborn – he’s, he’s going to take over Mister Stark’s company. He has a whole bunch of people in his company and they’re going to make a vote of no-confidence and they’re going to put Osborn at the head, and –.”

“ _Whoa whoa whoa, Pete, slow down. I don’t understand what you’re saying. What is this about Tony?”_

Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He pressed his hand against the side of his head, digging his fingers into his hair. He tried once more.

“Norman Osborn – he, he’s the head of Oscorp Industries. He’s planning on taking over Stark Industries. He has a bunch of people he’s planted… they’re all in different branches of the company, and they’re all – they’re all loyal to Osborn. He’s planning on making a deal with Tony, and –.”

“ _Woah, hey – hold up.”_ Steve interrupted. _“So you’re saying… you’re saying this Osborn guy is trying to take over Stark Industries? That he has a bunch of people planted on the inside?”_

Relief poured over Peter. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. You have to warn him, you have to stop them. Once he has the company, he plans to stop all money going towards the Avengers. He wants to break us up. He wants to make it so we can never help anyone ever again!”

There silence for a moment, then, _“Peter, I don’t – how do you know this? Are you sure you have your information right? That you didn’t just hear this somewhere on the street? How do you know for sure that Osborn is going after Stark Industries?”_

_Because he told me. Because Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin and he wants the Avengers gone. He wants them made useless. He wants them out of the way. He told me because I’m Spider-Man, because I apparently have something that he wants, even though I don’t. But he doesn’t operate according to logic, he just wants what he wants and he has the power to get it._

“ _Peter?”_

Peter swallowed. “Please… please Mister Rogers, you just… you have to believe me. I promise you, I promise you I’m not lying. I’m not making this up. I know you’ve only known me for a few days, but please – you have to trust me. I need… I _need_ you to trust me. Please.”

There was silence once more, until finally Peter heard a sigh. _“All right. All_ _right, I’ll – I’ll get ahold of Tony, or Pepper, or… or someone. I’ll let them know something’s up. But Peter, I don’t know when I’ll be able to contact them, I’m currently… I’m not exactly in a location that I can just call people right now. In fact, you shouldn’t_ _even_ _have been able to even call me. I’m completely out of range, and –.”_

“But you’ll warn them?” Peter asked. “You’ll tell them what Osborn is doing?”

“ _Yes, I will, but –.”_

“Well it has to be soon, because he’s planning on taking the company in a week, and –.”

“ _Peter!”_

Peter fell silent.

“ _Peter, I promise you I’ll try and contact them, but I doubt I’ll be able to do it anytime soon. Besides, isn’t Tony meeting with Osborn today?”_

Peter blinked, then frowned. “What?”

“ _Isn’t today the day he’s signing that huge contract with Oscorp? I think he said he’s planning on merging parts of their companies together, or at least forming a partnership or something. I don’t exactly keep up with Tony’s business ventures.”_

But that – no. No, that couldn’t be right. Osborn had said the mutiny would occur in a week, that everyone would jump ship in a _week_ , that they had a week before everything came crashing down, and –

The ruffling of paper caught his eye, and Peter looked down to see a trash bin on the outside of the booth. A newspaper was stuffed inside, half of it still sticking out. An image of Tony’s smiling face looked up at him from the page.

Momentarily dropping the phone, Peter quickly stepped outside and grabbed the paper, before stepping back and in putting the phone back to his ear.

An image of Tony’s face was in the upper corner of the paper, Osborn’s name right beside it. He quickly flipped through the pages until he found the one they were featured on. His eyes scanned the headlines and his body grew cold.

_Stark and Osborn to hold public signing of new partnership. Stark Industries and Oscorp will_

_be working together to find and run new innovations in the research and development sector._

_Promising future ahead. Signing will be held at Hampton Park this afternoon at two o’clock._

Two in afternoon. Today. They were signing their partnership _today_ , and cementing everything that Osborn would need in order to set off the mutiny in a week.

Osborn hadn’t lied to him. He’d just kept back the most important part.

“ _Peter, are you still there?”_

If Tony signed the contract today, it wouldn’t matter if he knew Osborn was going to betray him in a week. All the paperwork would already be done. Everything would be set into place. Osborn had only to knock over the first domino, and all the rest would fall.

“ _Peter!”_

Someone had to stop him. Someone had to stop him, someone had to go to the park and stop Tony from signing the contract. From signing his entire company and the future of the Avengers away.

“ _Peter are you still there? If I hang up, I probably won’t be able to reach you again, I don’t even know how you got ahold of me in the first place, I don’t think my phone was even_ on _–.”_

Someone had to stop them.

But there was no one.

No one except him.

“ _Peter!”_

“I have to stop it.”

The words were out of his mouth before he barely had a chance to think them. But as soon as he said them, he knew they were true.

“ _What? Peter, no – don’t go anywhere near there. If what you said is true, if Osborn is really trying to take over Tony’s company, then I doubt he’ll be happy if someone tries and stops him. Just stay where you are. I’ll be back in the country in a couple days, I’ll find you and we can take care of this then. I promise. Just don’t do anything, okay?”_

He hadn’t done anything for a long time. And look where that had gotten him. Look where that had gotten them all.

“ _Peter!”_

“I’m going to stop him,” Peter repeated. “If I don’t, the Goblin will go after everyone else. And I can’t let that happen. Not anymore.”

“ _Peter –.”_

“See ya later, Mister Rogers.”

“ _Pet –.”_

Peter hung up the phone. He barely heard the sounds of coins dropping as they fell back into the dish.

He stood there for a few minutes, simply staring at the black handle, his mind running a mile a minute as he thought of everything he had to do.

He had to get to the park as soon as he could. Once there, he’d find Tony – he’d tell him what was happening, he’d tell him not to sign, and if he were lucky Osborn wouldn’t see him, and –

A sharp rapping sounded behind him, and he spun round to see a large man standing angrily behind the door. “Hey, get outta there! Other people have to use the phone too, ya know!”

Peter blinked, then quickly opened the door and stepped out.

“I’m s’posed to call my wife at one-thirty and I’m already ten minutes late!” He moved to the side as the man lumbered past, pushing himself into the small booth and closing the door behind him.

Peter stood there for a moment, before the man’s words finally reached his ears.

Ten minutes past one-thirty. That meant right now it was one-forty. The signing started at two.

Which meant he only had twenty minutes left.

Without another thought, Peter started to run.

* * *

Luckily, spending two years on the streets meant that Peter had become well-acquainted with the different sites and places throughout it. Which meant that he also knew exactly where Hampton Park was, and exactly how to reach it.

The problem was that to walk, it would take over forty-minutes.

Which meant Peter had to run – and he had to run fast.

He took every shortcut he could think of, hopped every fence, every barricade that stood before him. He ran past construction crews still working, past men and women walking their dogs. He jolted across roads, weaving in and out of cars, ignoring the honks and revving engines of protest. He climbed up walls and over stone barriers, never stopping, not once, not even to breathe.

Every second felt like a minute, every minute felt like an hour. But before Peter even had a chance to realise where he was, he was suddenly falling over his feet as he skidded to a halt on the grass in the Hampton Park.

His head whipping back and forth, Peter looked everywhere for something, anything that would be an obvious sign that something official was going on, that important people were nearby, that –

_There._

A small stage and backdrop were set up in the distance, a large crowd already surrounding it. He could hear someone speaking on a microphone, and Peter knew the signing had begun.

He ran over and met the crowd, quickly melting into the sea of people. There were more people here than ought to be for a public business signing, there really should have only been reporters and photographers. But Peter had learned long ago that wherever Tony Stark – where _Iron Man_ – showed up, a crowd of fans were sure to follow.

Peter stood on his toes, trying to see past the heads of what felt like a million taller people. He had never cursed his height more.

Suddenly the crowd started to cheer, and through glimpses between bodies Peter was able to see Tony walking out on stage, waving his hand with his trademarked glasses and grin.

Peter’s mouth set in a firm line. He had to get to him. One way or another, he had to get on that stage.

Ducking under a waving arm, Peter began moving slowly through the sea of people. He kept his eye steadily on Tony, making his way as fast as he could towards the stage. He could see Happy in the corner, back straight and hands folded in front of him like always, his own eyes searching the crowd for any potential threat. Well, perhaps Peter wasn’t as ungrateful for his height, after all.

As Peter neared the front, he could clearly see the line of guards in black glasses blocking any openings to the back of stage; Peter took a breath. He’d been realising more and more lately that he was like Tony, in that he tended to run head on and ask questions later. Perhaps he should be channeling his inner Steve, and actually take a moment to figure out exactly how his plan was supposed to work.

A distraction. He’d have to create a distraction of some kind. But what?

Looking round, Peter began to think.

His eyes roamed over the crowd, the trees, and the stage. He could – he could go – but no. No, that wouldn’t work. But then he could – no, that wouldn’t work either.

Peter continued to think, continued to try and figure out what he could possibly do to both distract everyone and also make it to the stage unseen, but there was nothing. Nothing came to mind. There was nothing he could do that wouldn’t send everyone’s eyes straight towards him and get him kicked out faster than he could open his mouth.

The crowd started clapping, and Peter looked up to see a shorter man coming out onto the stage. He was clearly representing Osborn; the older man must have found some reason not to attend at the last minute. But it didn’t matter. Everything would be signed and legal soon enough.

He was running out of time.

Peter inched closer, wondering just how fast he could move between the guards and whether or not he’d be able to avoid being caught by all five of them.

One of the guards caught Peter’s eye and Peter quickly looked away, shirking back into the crowd.

Dammit. Dammit, _shit_. What was he supposed to do? Just yell and scream like a mad-man? There was no way Tony would hear him, he likely wouldn’t even see him, and then he’d be taken away by security and it would all be over – Tony would sign the contract, completely oblivious to what was going to happen.

But what could he do? There was nothing. Peter rubbed at his shirt in discomfort, his chest growing hot.

There was nothing. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing, there was _noth_ –

A gasp sounded nearby, followed by another. There was a shout, and Peter opened his eyes, catching everyone’s gaze, which for some reason were directed at his feet. Confused, he finally looked down to see a fire near the base of his feet.

People were quickly scrambling away; some were trying to stomp it out, but despite the wet ground and lack of oxygen, the fire still grew. Peter jumped back along with a dozen other people, and soon everyone was shouting and running in every direction.

The security that had been blocking the entrance to the back end of the stage started moving towards them, quickly ushering people away from the fire as quickly as they could.

Taking what would very likely be his only opportunity, Peter ducked between the swarm of people and started heading towards the stage.

He made it behind the backdrop. He looked up the small set of stairs that led to the top of the stage. He could see Tony standing behind the desk where the contract lay, tapping his finger against it in what was either impatience or concern. It was probably both.

Osborn’s representative, though, was staring out at the scene with a slight frown at his lips, clearly not appreciating the unexpected turn of events.

Well, if he didn’t like that, he was sorely going to hate what he was about to do next.

With as loud a voice he could, Peter took a deep breath and shouted, _“M_ _ister Stark!_ _”_

Tony, and almost everyone else left on the stage, nearly jumped out of their skin. Happy turned to him, his surprise quickly giving way to what could only be called righteous fury, and immediately started towards him. “You again!”

Wasting no time, Peter continued, “Mister Stark, you can’t sign that contract! Osborn’s planning on taking over the company – if you sign it, you’ll be giving him everything!”

By now Happy had reached him, and grabbed him on the collar of his jacket. In seconds he was literally lifting Peter up and carrying down the steps.

Peter struggled, trying to get away, but unless he wanted to hurt Happy, he couldn’t do anything. But as Happy led him past the crowd of people, who had now settled down with the fire gone, Peter couldn’t help but feel relief.

He’d heard him. He’d listened to him. He’d heard him say what Osborn was really up to, he now knew the truth, and he would –

The announcer, who until this point had been languidly describing the event’s proceedings, started speaking again. “We are so sorry for the interruptions. Now, if you’ll draw your attention to the front, Mister Stark and Mister Stromm will sign the contract. Mister Osborn’s signature is already on the document; Mister Stromm will be signing as the authoritative witness.”

Peter stared as Happy continued to drag him away, the man’s voice ringing in his ears. But as he continued to watch, his smile faded away and his eyes widened, as he watched Tony lean over the desk and begin to sign.

No. No, he’d told him – he’d reached him in time, he’d _told_ him what Osborn was planning to do, that this whole set-up was a charade, an attempt to take over his company, so why was he –

Peter breathed.

Because he didn’t know him. Because to Tony, he was nothing more than a homeless street-rat that he didn’t know from an axe-murdurer. He was nothing more than someone who had happened to help one of his friends, and who in his eyes had proved himself the greatest moron in the entire world by rejecting their help.

An anger flared through Peter, sudden and viciously hot, laced with bitterness and resentment.

If Tony had remembered him, he would have believed him. He would have known he was telling the truth. He would have stopped everything he was doing right then and there, no questions asked. He would have trusted Peter completely.

But instead, he was ignoring him, and was now choosing to sign his life away.

Peter watched as Tony finished his signature with a flourish, before looking up with a grin. The crowd clapped politely, and the announcer began remarking on all the ways the new partnership would benefit the people, the city, and even the Avengers themselves.

Osborn’s representative leaned down and marked his own signature as the announcer continued to speak.

By now Happy had dragged him all the way to the back of the crowd, and he dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground. Peter quickly scrambled back up, reaching towards the guard.

“Happy, Happy please – please, you have to tell Mister Stark that Osborn’s going to betray him. Osborn – Osborn’s the Green Goblin, he’s the Green Goblin and you need to tell Mister Stark that he’s going to take over the company, and –.”

“Listen kid, I thought I told you to stay away from Mister Stark! I told him – I _told_ him you would be trouble. But of course no one listens to Happy. Happy’s only been security for almost twenty years, it’s not like _he_ knows anything!”

“Happy –.”

“Go home, kid. You’re lucky Mister Stark won’t charge you with assault – if it were me, I’d have your ass thrown in juvie before sundown.”

Everything suddenly went silent, and the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck rose.

“… so go back home and don’t you dare come near Mister Stark again, or he _will_ have you arrested – do you hear me?”

Something was coming. Something was coming fast.

Turning round, Peter started looking every which way, his eyes scanning across the people and trees before moving to the sky.

“Hey kid! Do you have a problem with hearing? I need you to at least acknowledge what I said before I let you go, and –.”

“Something’s coming.”

His eyes continued to move, before coming to a stop.

There.

Peter’s eyes landed on a dark object, which quickly growing larger and larger with every passing second. The hairs on his arms stood up, and before he could even make the figure out, he knew exactly what it was.

He knew exactly _who_ it was.

“Happy,” Peter said, pushing his hand against Happy’s side. The figure was coming faster and faster, and within seconds it was bearing down on them. Peter ignored Happy’s protests and pushed him harder, trying to get him out of the way. “Happy, look out!”

“Kid, what –.”

Something shot past out of the corner of his eye, and Peter turned round just in time to see a glowing ball fly over the crowd, and onto the stage.

An explosion followed and debris flew into the air. People started screaming and began running in all directions, as a deep laughter echoed all around them.

The Goblin flew over them, shooting past the stage and into the distance, before the glider began to turn and he started heading back towards them.

Peter vaguely heard Happy’s voice shouting Tony’s name, and before he could even blink the man had let him go and disappeared into the throng of panicked and terrified people.

Peter fought against the wave of people moving against him, trying to see the stage, trying to see whether Tony had been hurt, if he had been injured, or if he had gotten out in time, and –

But the smoke was too thick, and Peter could barely see a thing save for the barest hints of movement. He couldn’t tell where Tony was, or if Happy had made it onto the stage, or if anyone else had been hurt, or – or –

The smoke began to clear, and Peter could just make out the images of Tony and Happy, the former of who was slowly making his way to his feet. Happy was soon near him, reaching down and practically carrying him off the stage. Peter spotted the announcer nearby, along with a few security guards, but where… but where was….

Where was Osborn’s man? Where was the person that Osborn had sign the contract on his behalf?

Someone roughly pushed into Peter and he fell down, suddenly finding himself fighting against running legs and stomping feet as they tried to run over him. Eventually he made his way back to his feet, and he immediately started running towards the stage. His spidey-senses were going haywire, screaming a him, shouting with a high-pitched ring that something was wrong, something was wrong, _something was wrong_ –

The Goblin came over them again, his manic laughter continuing to sound from up above. A second later there was another explosion, but this time along with the screams, there came the sound of boosters roaring to life. Moments later people’s screams turned into cheers, as Iron Man took to the skies.

But Peter wasn’t paying attention. He was only focused on one thing. Because if Osborn’s worker was taken to safety by his security, that was one thing; but if –

Peter finally reached the stage, which was now half-crumbled to the ground. He all but jumped onto the remaining pieces, running over to desk, where the contract had been minutes before.

The desk was empty.

Peter started whipping round, back and forth, trying to spot the paper, to see shreds of paper, to find something, anything that would indicate the contract was still here, and –

Movement caught the corner of Peter’s eye, and he looked up through a hole in the backdrop to see a lone figure running across the field and towards the building across the street beyond, a piece of paper fluttering in his hand.

Peter’s wide eyes began to narrow, and the world ground to a halt.

Before Peter even knew what he was doing, he had started to run.

He could run fast, but the man had already had a massive head start, and before Peter had even made it halfway to the street, the man had already disappeared into the building on the other side.

There was parking out back behind the building; that that was where the man was planning to go. He likely had a car waiting for him out back, or knew an alley he could disappear into. He would take the contract to Oscorp and the deal would be complete.

And Peter couldn’t let that happen.

But there was no way he could make it through the building in time. Aside from being stopped by security and other people, once inside he would have no idea how to get to the back. He’d be lost wandering in a maze while the man and the contract got away.

There was only one other option.

Without even thinking, Peter tore the bottom of his shirt, ripping off a large piece of fabric. He wrapped it around his mouth and nose, tying it behind his head. He then lifted up the hood of his jacket, pulling it tightly over his head and around his face. Dashing across the street, Peter ran into the alley for a few feet, then all but jumped onto the side of the wall and began to climb.

He crawled diagonally, moving each limb as fast as he could. Moments later he made it to the top, quickly standing to his feet on the ledge.

He was just in time.

He could see the man already running across the enclosed lot, heading towards the trees and street beyond.

Peter no longer thought, everything was instinct; in seconds he had already outstretched his arm, pressed his fingers against his wrist, and shot a web against the nearest building. He jumped.

He swung down in an arc, extending his legs out in front of him, aiming straight for the man’s back. Seconds later they met, and the man was sent crashing to the ground. Peter let go of the web and tumbled, falling head over heels until he regained his momentum and skidded to a stop.

The man was crying out and writhing on the ground in pain. He looked up, his wide eyes meeting Peter’s. In the next second he started scrambling to his feet, and started to run.

But Peter wasn’t going to even give him a chance.

Stretching out his arm, Peter shot another web. It latched onto the man’s back and Peter pulled, bringing him back down to the ground with a crash.

The man started to fight back, hitting Peter as hard as he could. But his hits were like kitten-swipes, and barely even registered in Peter’s mind. Still, they were annoying, so Peter shot webs onto each of his wrists and feet, binding him to the ground.

The man began to shout as he struggled to get free. “Get off me! Get off me, you little cretin, you little –.”

Peter shot a web over the man’s mouth, and there was promptly silence.

With the man fully restrained, Peter finally took a moment to breathe. He leaned back as he fought to get his racing heartbeat under control. However, as he did, his eyes finally took in the man’s face, and his entire body froze.

This man. He knew this man. This wasn’t just some random minion, sent out to do Osborn’s bidding. This was… this was….

This was the man from the laboratory. This was the man that had stood with Osborn on the other side of the glass cage, as Peter was kept bound inside. This was the man who had helped Osborn, running the computers and looking up at him absently with his little, rat-like face. This was the man who had shot him. Who had tried to kill him.

This was the man that had stood by and watched as Osborn took a knife and cut into his body, as he cut a gash deep down his chest, as he screamed in pain and begged for help, and –

Peter swallowed.

The man seemed to recognise him, too, as his wide, fearful eyes suddenly narrowed into a glare. His struggles became more pronounced, but the webbing refused to give way. He was stuck. He was trapped.

Just like Peter had been. Just as Peter had been back in that laboratory, when he’d been kept behind the enclosure of glass, a simple specimen for the two men to experiment on, a rat in a cage with nowhere to escape.

All the feelings of terror and fear that Peter had felt at that time came suddenly rushing back. All the thoughts of torture and death that he had tried to forget resurfaced, leaving him feeling for a moment as though he were still back there, still strapped helplessly to the iron table, completely at the two men’s mercy.

Except it was different, now. Now it was him that stood on the outside, and the man – Stromm – that was bound before him. Now it was him that was in control. Now it was Stromm that was at _his_ mercy.

For a moment, Peter wondered. He wondered what it would be like to make the other man feel the same fear and pain that he had felt; to feel the same burning fire of a bullet in your shoulder; to feel the excruciating pain of a knife cutting into your skin and bone.

Stromm seemed to recognise what Peter was thinking, as the colour suddenly drained from his face, and the last remnants of defiance disappeared, replaced in its stead with complete and utter fear. He could hear the muted words beneath the web, begging for him stop, to not do what he was about to do.

The mufled voice brought Peter out of his thoughts and he blinked, suddenly realising just what exactly it was that had been going through his mind.

Swallowing, Peter shook his head.

He had to get back to what he was doing. He had to find the contract, and destroy it. That was what was most important right now.

He reached down and grabbed hold of Stromm’s jacket. The man violently flinched, but Peter ignored it. He dug inside the jacket on either side for a few moments, before finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled out a piece of paper, and could see Tony’s signature at the bottom. Relief washed over him and he closed his eyes, taking a breath.

He did it. He got the contract. Stark Industries was saved, and the Avengers wouldn’t be left scattered and on their own. He did it, they were safe.

They were safe.

Without warning anger suddenly erupted within him, and Peter’s attention turned back to Stromm, who was looking up at him with wary eyes. Peter pulled down the cloth around his face and spoke.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” he spat. “You were willing to let millions of people suffer and die, and for what? A Goddamn pay-raise? The position as Osborn’s top underling? Really?!”

The man mumbled against the webbing, but Peter didn’t care one inch what he had to say. He was angry, so, _so_ angry at the man – at Osborn – at everything, for what they had put him through.

“You kidnapped me,” Peter continued. “You tortured me. You let him cut open my chest, and for what? For what?! Because you thought there was some hidden gem inside, huh?! Honestly, your boss is fucking insane! He just attacked a group of people, he tried to kill Tony Stark, and for what?! So he could….” Peter trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as realisation clicked in.

“So he could have reason to take control of the company,” he finished. “If Tony was dead or severely injured, Osborn would be able to get the vote of no confidence from the board, and everyone on the outside would think it was legit. Everyone would think it was real. And it would be.”

The anger returned anew, and Peter was suddenly shouting, shaking his hand with the crumpled contract in front of the man’s face. “You slimy, scheming bastard! You were willing to kill innocent people so that you could take over Stark Industries and get rid of the Avengers? What for?! Why would you possibly need the Avengers gone? What the hell threat do they pose to you? Huh?!” He ripped the webbing off his mouth. “Tell me!”

Huffing, the man glared and said, “Because of what you have!”

Peter stared at him incredulously, his eyes wide. “I told you! I told both of you – I don’t have anything! I have my abilities that I got from the bite, but that’s it! That’s _it_ , I don’t have anything else, and I –.”

“But you do,” Stromm interrupted, shaking his head. “You just don’t know it.”

Peter stared down at the older man, struggling to regain his breath. “And how do you know that?” he finally asked.

Stromm’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t blame me, kid. I don’t know if it’s all true, I don’t know if I even really believe it. But after my boss met that man, after that man told him about you, he became incessant – he became _obsessed_ with finding you, with capturing you, with taking whatever it is you have. He said that you’re special. He’s never told me exactly what it was, only that it’s greater than anything else he’s every had. And believe me, kid – Mister Osborn has many great things. And if he thinks whatever it is you have is greater than all of them, well….”

Peter could only stare.

“… No,” he said after a moment. He shook his head. “No. You’re lying.” Stromm started to speak again, but Peter refused to let him, shooting another web onto his mouth. “I don’t have anything. I’m just – I’m just Peter Parker. I’m not special, I’m – I’m no one. I’m a homeless kid with no family and no friends. I have nothing, I am _no one._ I don’t have anything of any importance, no matter what your boss says! And that – and that he would come after me for that, that he would torture and try and kill me because of something as stupid as _that_ , it’s – it’s – .”

Stromm started making noises louder than before, but this time his eyes widened, falling on the smoldering fist in front of him.

With a start, Peter’s own eyes widened, as he realised that is fist was indeed actually smoldering. Smoke was coming out from between his fingers and the crease of his palm; then suddenly the contract that he had been holding between them burst into flame, thick black smoke rising into the air.

Peter stared at his now-smoldering fist, his eyes wide and heart frozen in his chest.

He had a lot of powers. He had a lot of abilities. He could climb walls and shoot webs from his wrists; he could run faster than anyone he knew and was just as strong. But this…

This wasn’t normal. This was very, very _not_ normal. In fact, this shouldn’t be happening at all.

Opening his hand, the blackened remnants of the contract scattered into the air, and disappeared into the sky.

How – how had that possibly happ –

Without warning his spidey-senses went off, and Peter was only able to turn his head and look up, half a second before something crashed into his side and sent him flying threw the air.

He landed on his back, rolling across the ground. He was vaguely aware of crashing through brick and glass, the force of the momentum sending him further and further, until he wasn’t sure if he would ever stop.

He eventually did, though, and despite the pain in his back and head, Peter wasted no time in getting back to his feet. Just as he did, a green flash came towards him and crashed into him, sending him flying back through the brick building once more.

The next thing he knew, there was a cold, metal hand wrapping around his throat. Peter’s eyes snapped open, meeting the large, yellow eyes and permanent, manic grin of the Green Goblin.

“Well, well, well,” the Goblin tutted. “It seems as though you are more of a thorn in my side than I thought.” The grip squeezed tighter, blocking off Peter’s airways. He brought his hands up to the Goblin’s fists, trying wrench them back.

“I wanted you to be there, truly I did. I would have saved you for last and then ripped you open, taking what is mine in front of all the others. Showing them exactly what it was they had lost. But it seems I now won’t get a chance to do that. Shame.”

Peter struggled harder, his hands growing hot, trying to kick the Goblin off of him. But the Goblin remained unmoved.

“Oh don’t worry, my dear boy. I won’t be killing you tonight. I’ll just have to take you back to my lab sooner than I thought. I won’t be able to finish with you right away; the plans that I have already set in motion must come first. You will have to wait. But don’t worry; once I am in control of Stark’s company, I’ll be able to give my full attention to you, and –.”

The Goblin paused, his words trailing off as white smoke started to appear in front of him. Both he and Peter looked down to see smoke rising from beneath Peter’s fingers, and as they slowly started melting into the Goblin’s armor.

The Goblin jerked back and swore. “What the –.”

Before he could finish his sentence there was a sudden roar of energy, followed by a flash, and the next thing Peter knew the Goblin was gone, and he was able to breathe once more. He sucked in a deep breath, his chest heaving as he looked to see what was happening.

But it didn’t matter, as the lack of oxygen had already taken its toll. Black dots began dancing in his eyes, until they started filling his entire vision. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the familiar gleam of red and yellow metal lowering to the ground in front of him – Iron Man – followed by one last thought.

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo - your guys' support absolutely means the world to me! 
> 
> You all have been such an amazing and wonderful encouragement as I've written this little fic. Thank you so, so much for everything!
> 
> Have a great week!


	13. In Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! You guys! I did it - I actually updated ONE WEEK since the last update! This is amazing! :D 
> 
> :p 
> 
> This chapter was an interesting one to write. It was supposed to originally be over twice as long, with a lot more stuff happening, but in the end it was either make a super, ridiculously long chapter and not get it published until the end of next week, or cut it down and publish it now. I wasn't going to make you guys wait that long again, so here we are! It both feels as though a lot happens and nothing happens, but I hope that either way, you'll enjoy it. It's more of a filler, but those are needed now and then.
> 
> This was written in a slightly sleepless-induced haze, so I hope it all makes sense! 
> 
> Thank you to all who have left kudos and such wonderful comments! Each and every chapter you guys blow me away with your kindness and just plain awesomeness - thank you! <3

Waking up in the compound the first time had been startling, and had sent him into a desperate, furious panic. Waking up in the compound the second time, however, proved instead to only be angering, and made him deeply irritated.

Everything looked exactly as it had before. In fact, Peter would go as far as to say they’d stuck him right back in the same room he’d managed to escape from the first time. The windows were the same, the chairs were the same, the ceiling was the same.

Unlike the last time, however, he wasn’t alone.

He could see the backs of two guards as they stood outside his door, another one standing a little ways down the hallway, their hands folded in front of them and their unhappy expressions indicating they clearly had a job to do. Peter fought off a wry grin. They were clearly taking no chances with him, this time.

The real clincher, however, was the guard sitting with him inside the room.

Happy Hogan sat facing him in one of the chairs by the door, his head down and eyes narrowed as he focused on his phone. His fingers were tapping away, not once realising that he was being watched.

Peter stared at Happy a moment longer, before turning his eyes to stare back up at the ceiling. He was glad for the small reprieve; it gave him a moment to think. To figure out exactly what had happened and how he’d gotten to where he was. It was an exercise that he was getting far, far too familiar with.

The last thing he remembered was fighting the Goblin. He’d been strangling him when Iron Man had shown up, and had blasted the maniac off of him. Peter had managed to start breathing again, but by then his body had become clearly fed up, and the last thing he remembered was lying back down on the ground before everything went dark.

A thought suddenly hit him, and for a moment Peter began to panic, wondering if Osborn had gotten away with the contract, or if he –

But no. No, he didn’t. He’d caught up to Stromm, he’d grabbed the contract, and he… and he….

And he burned it. Somehow, someway, the paper had erupted into flames as though someone had taken lighter fluid and a match and lit it. When he’d opened his palm the blackened pieces had floated away, dissipating into the air. But how… how had that possibly happened –

Peter swallowed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about it. Clearly something had happened, somewhere along the line he’d been… he’d been changed. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d discovered new abilities of a less-than human nature, but he didn’t think spiders could create fire in the palm of their hands. Or legs. Or whatever… whatever you call their feet, or –

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Peter blinked, then slowly turned his head.

Happy was looking at him with his ever-present “less than impressed” face. His phone was now put away and his arms were crossed in front of him as he sat.

When Peter didn’t reply, Happy continued, “I’ve told Mister Stark that you’re awake. He’ll be here shortly. For now, why don’t we have a chat, hmm?”

Oh joy, more chats. But Happy wasn’t Steve; he wasn’t someone interested in Peter as a person, he was only interested in the threat he represented. Which made his questions standard. Which made him predictable. Which made him someone that Peter could handle with ease.

“Well since you’re so eager to stay silent, I’ll start the questions. First thing I want to know is, what do you want with Mister Stark?”

Peter frowned at the ceiling. What did he want with Mister Stark? He wanted nothing. In fact, he wanted more than nothing, he wanted to be as far away from the billionaire as he possibly could. But fate seemed determined to do the opposite of everything he had ever wanted, so here he sat, in Tony’s compound, in Tony’s med-ward, being interrogated by Tony’s head of security. How wonderful.

“Well?” Happy asked impatiently. Peter fought back an annoyed glare. Clearly to Happy, five seconds was more than enough time to formulate and give an answer, even if he was in a hospital bed. He should of known that, of course. Silly Peter.

“What do you want with Mister Stark?” Happy asked again. “You tried getting on the stage at the signing – why? What were you planning on doing to him? Did you have a knife? A gun? Were you a decoy for the green creature on that hover-board, or –.”

“Hey now,” Peter finally interrupted, looking over. “I had nothing to do with that. I have nothing to do with him, I –.”

“Well I think you’re lying. I heard you were trying to get back into the tower after I _explicitly_ told you to not come back. Didn’t I make myself clear enough when I told you to stay away?” Happy glared, shaking his finger. “I knew you were trouble, I knew you had bad intentions from the start. I told Mister Stark you were bad news, but he didn’t listen to me! And now look what’s happened – you show up at one his public signings, and a few minutes later the place gets attacked and civilians are hurt, and –.”

“W-what?” Peter spluttered, pushing himself up against the pillows. “You’re – Happy, you’re insane! You’re insane if you think that just because I was there, that means that the Goblin and I were –.”

“So you admit that you know him?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You admit that you know who he is and that you’re working together?”

“What?! No! Happy, you’re not even twisting my words because you’re not even giving me a chance to say them! I told you, I have nothing to do with the Goblin, I was actually trying to _warn_ you about him –.”

“Why?” Happy demanded. “You knew he was coming then, if you were trying to warn us. But how? How did you know? If you weren’t working with him, how could you have possibly known he was com –.”

“Because he’s Osborn!” Peter finally spat out. “Osborn is the Goblin. Mister Stark was going to sign a deal with the _Green Goblin_ and I had to stop him, I had to stop him or else –.”

“Really?” Happy interrupted. “Really, that’s the story you’re going with? That Norman Osborn, the head of _Oscorp Industries_ , is actually the Green Goblin in disguise? Really?” Happy shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? I don’t know where you came from, but as soon as you’re healed I’m having you shipped straight back to –.”

“Now now, children, let’s try not to fight, shall we?”

Both Peter and Happy looked up to see Tony enter the room, closing the door behind him. He gave them both a smile, before turning to Happy. “Thanks Hap, you can go now.”

“But sir –.”

“That will be all, Mister Hogan.”

Happy looked very much as though he wanted to stand his ground and continue to interrogate Peter, but years as Tony’s head of security forced him to bite his lip and, with a curt nod, he left the room.

Tony watched as Happy walked past the window and down the hall, before spinning back around to face Peter. His smile broadened. “So, we meet again. It’s been what – twenty-four hours since I last saw you? It sure looks like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Peter fought back a glare and bit his tongue.

“Ah, the silent treatment. I’ve heard you’re quite good at that. You must have met my CEO, Miss Potts – she’s rather good at that, too.”

Peter remained silent.

Tony’s lip twitched, but his smile remained. He took a few steps over to the chairs, before sitting down with a thud, setting his ankle over his knee and folding his hands. “So, care to explain what happened?”

Peter said nothing.

“All right then, I see I’ll have to be more direct. I have a number of questions, but I suppose the first one I should ask is: why you were at the signing? I wouldn’t have imagined you for the business type. But you seemed pretty adamant about getting onto the stage. You were yelling, but Happy had you outta there before I had a chance to hear what you were saying. He said it wasn’t important, but I know Happy well enough to know we tend to differ on that definition.”

This was it. This was the chance to finally tell Tony what Osborn was doing, how much he was in danger, who Osborn really was.

And Peter wasn’t going to let that chance get away.

He just didn’t know if Tony would believe him.

Peter took a breath.

“Osborn… Osborn, he – he’s the Green Goblin. That’s the reason he wasn’t there, that’s why he had his assistant signing for him – so he could attack once the deal was signed. He wanted to remove you from the company, he… he wanted to kill you, or injure you, so that he could take over Stark Industries. He has a whole bunch of people planted inside, ready to defect, and… and….”

Tony’s eyebrow was raised, and Peter could tell that of all the stories he had expected to hear, this hadn’t been it.

“Okay, so you’re telling me that Norman Osborn – the founder and head of Oscorp Industries – is actually the… Green Goblin? The guy in the green suit who’s been flying around on his little hover-board, throwing bombs into buildings? That guy?”

“Yes,” Peter ground out. He could hear the skepticism in Tony’s voice, plain as day, and it bothered him more than he thought it would. Though he knew Tony might not believe him right away, he still had figured he’d see the truth at one point. He had to.

“As much as I’d like to believe that one of my prime business rivals is in fact a low-life villain that should be thrown in jail, the idea of Norman Osborn as the Green Goblin is kind of a ridiculous. Where did you hear this from? One of your friends on the street?”

Why did they always think he heard everything from people on the streets? Did they think he was that well connected? Did they honestly think he even had any friends?

“No,” Peter replied. “I heard it… I heard it….”

He heard it because Osborn told him. Because he shoved it in his face all that he was going to do, taunting him, laughing at him, mocking him. Because he’d kidnapped him and shoved him into a glass cage and proceeded to cut into his chest with a knife.

But….

But he couldn’t tell Tony that. No matter how much he wanted to vindicate himself, he couldn’t tell Tony how he really knew. He couldn’t tell him the truth. Because if he told him about the Goblin, then he’d ask even more questions. And those questions would lead him to ask even _more_ questions. And then he’d be close, he’d be so close to prying open the last of Peter’s secrets, of finding out exactly why Peter had ever been there in the first place, and –

“Well?” Tony prompted. “Where did you hear this from? Who told you Norman Osborn is the one who attacked the people at the signing, today?”

Peter finally shook his head. “I can’t –.”

“– tell me,” Tony finished. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He leaned back. “Let me tell you kid, you don’t exactly give a good defense with that kind of answer.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, to try and defend himself what little he could, but Tony barreled over him and continued, standing to his feet. “But let’s not focus on that right now. Instead, let’s move on to the second question. Why was the Goblin trying to kill you? If I’m not mistaken, this makes it the second time he’s tried to knock your lights out, is that right?”

Now this was a question that Peter could bullshit his way to an answer to.

“I went after him,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “I wanted to get rid of the contract, so I… I went after the assistant. I guess the Goblin knew what I was doing and he tried to stop me.”

“You knowingly tried to destroy a legal document for some messed up idea that you had, and then just happened to get caught in the crossfire of the Goblin’s rampage?” Tony scoffed. “Yeah kid, I don’t think so.”

That wasn’t exactly what he said, and Peter was sure Tony knew it. The older man just didn’t want to state otherwise, else he would actually be presuming what Peter had said about Osborn was true. But Peter knew Tony. He knew he’d scoff and wave his hand, sloughing the accusation off as nothing more than a street-rat’s rumour; but once he was alone, once he was by himself with nothing else but his own thoughts, then he would think. Then he would begin to wonder. He’d start to investigate, and then he’d find the trail that would lead him all the way to Osborn’s spies, and then eventually all the way to Osborn himself.

Tony and Peter stared at each other for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Tony looked halfway contemplative and halfway annoyed, his fingers tucked beneath his chin and eyes never leaving Peter’s.

Finally Tony let his hands drop, and he walked over to the window. “Well whatever the truth is, one fact is clear: that the Goblin clearly has it out for you. And as much as you’re proving to be a pebble in my shoe, you hardly deserve to get attacked a third time. Plus, you’re just a kid. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?”

“I’m seventeen,” Peter ground out for what felt like the millionth time. “Almost eighteen. Practically an adult.”

“Yeah but you’re not yet, are you?”

Peter fought the urge to swear. “No.”

“And you have no guardian? No one’s legally taking care of you back in New York?”

His thoughts began to drift to Aunt May, but Peter quickly put them to a halt. “No,” he said again.

Tony hummed for a moment, then turned back round, his hands behind his back. “All right, then. I guess until we get this Goblin guy sorted out, you’re staying with us.”

Peter blinked, then blinked again. “Wait, what? No! No, I can’t stay here, I need to go back to New York, I –.”

“Too bad, kid. I don’t care what you want, you’re staying here.”

Peter swore.

God, it was like his escape from the compound before had never happened; it were as though someone had taken their finger and pushed back the hands of the clock, reversing everything he had done to get away from here in the first place, picking him up and bringing him straight back to square one.

“Look,” Tony said, “I’ve talked with Rogers. I know you seem to hate this place for whatever reason, I don’t know. But I’m not going to let some kid back into the line of fire and get himself killed, just because he was being a stubborn pain in the ass. Besides, there’s nothing you could do right now anyway, even if I were to let you leave. They’re forecasting a storm that’s supposed to hit sometime tonight. An actual, real Nor’easter, they calling it. Everyone will be grounded until it passes. So I’m sorry kid, but you’re outta luck.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He had said everything already, he had already said so much – what more could he possibly do to convince them that he couldn’t stay here? If he tried running again, then it would be Tony coming after him, this time, and Peter would essentially be put under house arrest, probably stuck in a room with handcuffs and everything. He’d be a literal captive once more – only this time instead of a wall of glass surrounding him, he’d have a wall of Avengers, instead.

Peter shook his head, old worries crowding in his mind. _But Seftis, he… if he found out_ _I’m_ _here, if he saw_ _I was with_ _them, t_ _hat I was talking to them, t_ _hen he would… he would…._

Another voice suddenly whispered in the back of Peter’s mind, an inkling, a nagging thought that just wouldn’t leave him alone. That hadn’t left him alone for a few days, now; whispering that he had already been with the Avengers for a while now, that he had spent hours with them, had spoken with them, and run after them, and still… still nothing had happened. Nothing had happened yet. That every time he thought something would be sure to happen, that nothing would… nothing would….

Peter swallowed, shaking his head again.

But no. Seftis’ threat was still so vivid in his mind, still so clear – he had to have meant it. More likely than not, he just wasn’t paying attention to him right now. But once he did, once he turned and saw where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, then… then….

But he was stuck. He was literally stuck here. And unless he wanted to spill everything here and now, unless he wanted to do the last thing Seftis had wanted him to do, then, well….

Then he’d have to stay.

Taking a breath, Peter spoke, “Steve – Mister Rogers – he… he told you what will happen if I stay, right? If you guys… if I stay around you guys for too long?”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows quizzically, before they fell back with realisation. “Oh, you mean the fact that you think you’re a ticking time bomb or something? Yeah, Rogers mentioned something about that. And like I’m sure he told you, kid – you’re with the Avengers. Not just one or two, but there’s actually quite a few of us kicking around here at the moment. You’d have to be pretty talented to get in here unnoticed. And besides, after that little stunt you pulled the last time you were here, I doubt security will let that happen.”

Tony headed towards the door. “I’ll set you up in some rooms on the fifth floor. If you need anything, just ask the AI, FRIDAY. She’ll take care of you.”

He turned the knob, but Peter stopped him before he could open the door. “Wait. How… how long will I be here for? How long before I can go back to the city?”

Tony turned back to him, a brow raised. “Well, I would say until we catch the guy. I was too busy making sure you weren’t dead, that he was able to get away. But I’m sure he’ll crop up soon. Guys like him can never keep to themselves for long. They always like the limelight just a little too much.”

 _Yeah_ , Peter thought as Tony opened the door. _Sorta like someone else I know._

“All right kid, I’ll have Happy escort you to your rooms. Now play nice, you hear? I don’t want to be breaking up any fistfights between you two.”

Peter fought off the urge to roll his eyes, and Tony began walking down the hall. Happy appeared in the doorway a few moments later, a very annoyed but resigned look on his face. “Come on kid,” he said. “Hurry up. I don’t got all day.”

With a sigh, Peter got out of the bed – he was still wearing his own clothes this time, thankfully – and began to follow.

* * *

Happy had shown him where everything was that he needed – the cafeteria, the area on the floor he was allowed to wander, and finally his rooms. They were big; essentially a large, well-kept apartment, with a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom – with an actual bed. Aside from the hospital bed, Peter wasn’t sure he’d been in a real one since Before.

By the time Happy had finished, it was well past nine o’clock. Peter had slept most of the day away already, but despite that fact, he was still tired beyond belief. He figured he’d get a late supper – he’d been in the cafeteria many times before, and almost knew the menu off by heart. Or, he had. Some of the items that had once been there were now gone, including some of Peter’s favourite meals. Oh well. Really, he was just happy to be eating something at all –especially when it was still warm.

When he finished eating he started heading back to his apartment. He knew the hallways enough to feel comfortable, and had no trouble making it back. When he turned the corner to his apartment, however, he saw that someone was standing outside. Peter drew to a stop, and blinked.

Clint.

Clint Barton stood outside Peter’s apartment door, his hand scratching the back of his head as he looked the other way. Peter watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do. Clint, as though feeling Peter’s gaze, suddenly straightened and turned round.

They stared at each other for a brief moment, before Clint spoke. “Hi,” he said.

Peter looked at him cautiously, before starting to walk closer. “Hi,” he replied.

Whatever remained of Clint’s unease was quickly hidden as Peter came to a stop in front of him, his back straightening and his professional manner taking over. He held out his hand. “My name’s Clint Barton,” he said. “I was the one that you… that you saved, back in the alley in New York.”

Peter awkwardly gave Clint’s hand a shake, if nothing more than to make the man drop his hand. “Um, hi.”

Clint gave a small smile. “I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did. I had been tracking a group in New York, and, well… apparently they didn’t like to be found. They were in the middle of attacking a woman when I found them, and, well – I wasn’t going to leave her on her own. Didn’t realise how outnumbered I was until I started the fight, and by then it was too late.”

He shuffled slightly. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. If you hadn’t stepped in when you did, well…. Let’s just say I probably wouldn’t be hanging around here; not upright, anyway.”

Peter gave a quick nod, eager for the conversation to be done. He liked Clint, he liked Clint a lot – he always had. They’d always gotten along well, Clint often acting like more of a dad than Peter had realised at the time. He’d gotten along well with his kids, the few times he’d met them, along with his wife. Seeing him in the role of a father and husband only made Peter respect him more.

But right now he was exhausted, and Peter didn’t feel like playing a game of charades, not now. Right now all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No problem,” Peter said. “Seriously, it was… it was no problem. Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“No they wouldn’t have,” Clint refuted, shaking his head. “I’ve been around a while, kid, and let me tell you something – not everyone would have done what you did. Not everyone would have jumped into the middle of fight like that.” He paused, then said, “especially with the odds being seven to one.”

Peter wasn’t sure what to say. He knew what Clint was saying, he knew what he was hinting at, but Peter wasn’t about to divulge the details of the fight. He wasn’t about to explain how he managed to fight off seven other men on his own, when an assassin like Clint hadn’t been able to. Though it really wasn’t Clint’s fault; if he hadn’t been stabbed and had been able to fight hand to hand, he’d have defeated them with ease. Of course he would have.

Of course he would have.

Sensing that Peter wasn’t going to give anything up, at least not tonight, Clint relented. “Well, I guess I’ll let you go to bed,” he said. “You’ve had a rough day, from what I’ve heard. I just wanted to find you first and say thank you, in case I didn’t get another chance.”

Peter gave him a tight-lipped smile, trying not to show just how exhausted he was. “Really, Mister Barton, it was no problem. I was happy to help. But yeah, I… I am a bit tired, so I think I’ll head to bed now.”

“Of course,” Clint replied with a smile. “I’ll see you at one point again, I’m sure. Goodnight, Peter.”

Peter watched in silence as Clint walked away.

He wasn’t sure what made him speak, but before he knew it he had opened his mouth and asked, “Hey Mister Barton – do you… do you know if Steve – if Mister Rogers – is here?”

Clint stopped and turned round, an odd look on his face. He stared at Peter for a moment, before saying, “No, he’s not.”

Something in Peter fell, and he struggled to keep his face emotionless. It really didn’t matter whether Steve was here or not, but he had to admit, it would have been nice to at least have someone to talk to, or –

“He’ll be back in a few days,” Clint said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. “When he comes, I’ll let him know you were asking for him.”

And before Peter could even have a chance to protest, Clint had turned the corner and was gone.

Peter stayed where he was for a few moments longer, before finally turning and opening the door to his apartment. He immediately made his way to the bedroom, flicking off the lights as he went. Once he was inside he all but collapsed onto the bed.

It was weird; it felt as though he were sleeping on a marshmallow. But at the moment, Peter couldn’t care, as all the emotions and stress of the day – of the past few days – caught up with him, and he quickly fell asleep.

* * *

When Peter woke up, the first thing he noticed was the wind.

He hadn’t wanted to get out of bed; he was so warm – so, _so_ warm – and the sheets felt like water against his skin. He hadn’t had sheets, actual, _real_ sheets with a real duvet and a real bed – in two years. And with a belly still full from last night, he didn’t need to leave it any time soon.

It was glorious.

Except, of course, when he remembered where he was and whose bed he was ultimately in.

The euphoria started to fade.

Peter stayed in the bed for a few minutes longer, simply staring at the ceiling. Eventually the noise of the wind drew his attention to the large window by his bed, where bright light was shining through the curtain. Finally getting to his feet, Peter walked over and drew the curtains back.

Tony hadn’t been lying about the storm.

The closest thing that Peter could see was a tree branch a few feet in front of him. Aside from that, everything was white. Snowflakes flew in a flurry, whipping in seemingly every direction, blinding Peter to the rest of the world. For people driving their vehicles, they wouldn’t be able to see past their own windshields. He supposed he really was grounded here, for now.

Peter closed the curtain and stepped back, shivering despite the warm air around him. He didn’t even want to think where he would be if he had remained in New York. But he was certain it wouldn’t be anywhere near as warm as here.

Walking into the kitchen, Peter began looking through the cupboards for food. All the times he had stayed in the compound Before, they had always kept a supply of food in his rooms in case he was ever hungry, seeing as his metabolism equaled that of a super-soldier. Or perhaps it was just because he was a teenager.

After finding and pouring himself a bowl of cheerios – and seriously, why hadn’t he ever realised how good these were before? He should have had Aunt May buying the family size twice a week when he was with her – he sat down on the chair in front of the large, kitchen bay windows, and ate as he stared out into the white oblivion beyond.

Once he was finished eating, Peter leaned back in his seat and began to wonder what he would do for the day. He could stay in his rooms, that was easy enough. He had a television and an incredibly comfy-looking couch, or he could even watch the television from his bed, if he wanted to. He could eat and sleep and watch TV for twelve hours straight if he wanted, without a care in the world.

Peter did do that, and it was great. But it turned out he could only last a few hours before he started getting antsy, and he eventually turned the TV off, wondering what he could do next. If he was going to be stuck here for the next few days as they tried to catch the Goblin – at which point Peter would be proven right and Tony would be coming back with his tail between his legs – then he would have to find something to do.

Tony did say that he could wander virtually anywhere on the fifth floor. He had guards everywhere and FRIDAY monitoring the place at all times, so he probably figured he was safe from any trouble that Peter might try and make for himself. Not that it mattered right now; considering he probably couldn’t even step a foot outside, there was only so much trouble Peter could get into.

He walked the halls for an hour, checking out the different wings and areas of the floor. He had never spent much time here Before, seeing as his rooms had always been on the seventh floor, near Pepper and Tony’s, and none of the other Avenger’s rooms had been here. It was clearly a floor meant for guests or staff, and ultimately it wasn’t that interesting. All the labs and exciting rooms were kept somewhere else.

Peter eventually found some couches to sit on by the window, and though he couldn’t see anything, he still found himself staring outside, if nothing more than to just think.

Not that he really had much to think about. He was stuck; he was momentarily in limbo until either the storm let up and he could try and leave, or when Tony decided to let him go. After that, he really had nothing else to do. He’d told Tony about Osborn and the Goblin, about his plans to take over Stark Industries. Now it was just up to Tony to act on it. He could rant and scream all he wanted, but ultimately, unless Tony chose to believe him, nothing could be done –

Peter’s senses started tingling, and he immediately knew he was no longer alone.

Turning his head, Peter looked down the hall to see someone coming towards him. Peter frowned, immediately recognising who it was.

Bruce Banner.

Well that was a little weird. What was Bruce Banner – the Hulk – doing on this floor? All the labs were three floors below and on the other side of the building. Bruce practically lived there. So why –

As Bruce drew near, Peter quickly looked away, hoping he would just walk on by without a word.

Of course, as was always his luck, he didn’t, and Peter listened as the man’s footsteps came to a stop a few feet away.

“Hey there,” Bruce said lightly, clearly trying to appear friendly. “You must be Peter Parker, is that right?”

Peter clenched his teeth, then sighed. He supposed at this point, his silence really didn’t matter anymore.

“Yes,” he said, looking up to meet Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce smiled. “My name is Bruce Banner. You might… you might also know me as the Hulk?”

Bruce was clearly trying to make him feel comfortable, if he was revealing who he was. He had never been particularly proud of his other half, and unlike Tony, would never shout it from the rooftops. So to tell Peter now only meant that he was trying to make him comfortable and put him at ease.

Yeah, well, good luck with that.

“I heard what happened,” Bruce said after Peter didn’t respond, his voice still trying to sound light. He had been just as awkward the first time he and Peter had met, and he was clearly no less so now. “How are… how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Peter answered quickly. If Bruce was simply here to check up on his health, then it would be easy to shoo him away. “Really, I think all I needed was a good night’s sleep. I’ve honestly never felt better.” That, oddly enough, was true. Perhaps that tended to happen when you had supper, sleep, and breakfast all in a row.

“Oh good, good.” Bruce continued his awkward smile, but he didn’t leave. Peter frowned, but before he could wonder what Bruce was still doing here, the older man spoke: “I suppose… I suppose I was just wondering if you’d like to come back to the med-ward, maybe just for a check-up? I know they cleared you, but it might be good just to make sure you weren’t hurt in a place you might not know about. It’s always good to be safe.”

Peter stared for a moment, bemused, then said, “Uh, no. No, I’m okay, thanks. Really, I feel fine. I think if internal damage had been done, I’d have known about it by now. But thanks, I… I appreciate the concern.”

Bruce chuckled awkwardly and wrung his hands in front of him. “I suppose… I suppose I need to be more direct.” He took a seat. “I was… I was looking at some of your records, from the medical ward, and I… I saw some… some interesting notes. I was wondering if I could maybe ask you some questions? Purely from a… a scientific point of view.”

Peter frowned, staring up at Bruce uncertainly, his heart beginning to be a little bit faster. What was he talking about? Had he found out something in relation to his abilities? Had he seen records stating that the last time he’d been there, he’d had a bullet and stab wound, and now they were gone? How was he supposed to explain that?

“Um,” Peter started, “I think I’d rather no –.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.”

Peter didn’t know how else to get rid of Bruce, aside from telling him to just go the hell away, so he begrudgingly acquiesced. He’d have to lie through his teeth to get around this. But he’d done that before, many times; he was sure he could do it again.

“All right,” he said. “But… but not for long. I have… other places I want to… to check out.” He was sure Bruce knew that was a lie, but at least he would get the hint that Peter really didn’t want to be here.

“Thank you,” Bruce said. He shifted slightly in his seat, then continued, “You see, when you first came in, they had to take a few chest x-rays in order to determine how deep the stab and bullet wounds went.”

Peter felt the back of his neck clam up, and suddenly his muscles were beginning to tense.

“And, well, you see… when we looked at the x-rays, we found something… a little bit strange.”

Peter’s frown deepened. His hands were sweating. “What… what did you find?”

“Have you ever had any surgeries before, Peter?”

Peter blinked. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Um… no. Not really. I mean, aside from my wisdom teeth getting pulled early, I don’t think there’s anything I really ever had to go to the hospital for. I’ve been lucky, I guess.” Peter looked at Bruce uneasily. “Why?”

“Well when you first came to us, we noticed you had a scar down the center of your chest. It seemed old, but… severe damage was clearly done to it.”

Peter’s tongue flew quicker than his thoughts. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said, leaning back. “It happened a long time ago. It’s not important now.” Thank goodness for his healing ability; at least it made it seem as though the wound had happened years ago. It was easier to pass off as nothing important, at least not now.

But Bruce didn’t look so easily convinced. “Well, do you know then… could you tell me if there was any reason for the… the scar? Did you need something taken out of your chest, or… or something put in? Like a pace-maker, perhaps?”

Now Peter was more than confused. He thought they were talking about his spider-powers. Or at least, he thought that’s what Bruce must be thinking of. What else could he possibly be talking about?

Bruce reached behind him and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he placed it on the small coffee-table between them. It was an x-ray of a chest.

Peter stared at the image, trying to figure out exactly what Bruce was talking about. His eyes trailed up the diaphragm and the bottom ribs, up until he reached the middle of his chest, just below his heart, and….

Peter’s eyes widened.

What the heck was _that?_

There was something… there was something just below his heart. Right in the middle of his chest. It was round, and at least the size of his fist. And by the way it looked on the x-ray, Peter could almost swear that it was… that it was _glowing_.

“Wh-what… what, is that a… a tumor?” Peter asked. He had never seen a tumor in an x-ray before; but then again he had never seen a tumor at all, so he had no clue what it should look like. He looked up at Bruce, his eyes wide, oddly hoping for him to be both right and wrong. But when he met Bruce’s eyes, he knew immediately it was the latter.

“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “No, we ran your blood-work and some tests, but from what we can tell, it’s not a tumor. At least, not any that we’ve ever seen before.” He paused for a moment, then continued: “When you first came in, you were asleep, so you wouldn’t have known, but… but whatever is in your chest, it hit our instruments pretty hard. Everything started going haywire; we were lucky to get the x-ray to work properly. It’s the only reading we were able to properly get of it.”

He kept Peter’s gaze a moment longer. “So you don’t… you don’t know what it is? You don’t know if some doctor did something a long time ago, when you were young, or….”

Peter’s thoughts flashed back to Osborn, and the scalpel glimmering in the light as he brought it down towards him. What if he had put something inside him? What if he had –

But no. No, that couldn’t be right. He said he was trying to get something _out_. That’s what he’d always been saying, that Peter had something and he wanted to get it from him. And he believed it so much, that he had tried to physically open his chest to do it.

Clearly, he hadn’t succeeded.

Except that meant that Osborn and Stromm had been right. Peter _did_ have something inside him, something aside from his spider-powers, something that was obviously of worth – at least to them.

But what… what could it possibly be? And how could it have been picked up by an x-ray? Was it actually something physical in his chest, was there actually an object in his chest he didn’t know about, sitting there right now, _inside_ him –

Peter leaned back, everything in him suddenly cringing, curling in at the idea that there was something – there was actually _something_ – inside of him, something he didn’t know about, something he didn’t know was there, something _inside_ him –

_**I needed someone to hold it. I needed someone to take it. You were the perfect vessel. I’m sorry. It had to be you.** _

The voice that had echoed in his thoughts and dreams suddenly came back to him, louder and clearer than ever before.

Suddenly Peter was starting to think that maybe they were more than just meaningless words.

“Peter?”

Peter looked up. Bruce was staring at him with both trepidation and concern, as though he somehow knew exactly what was going through Peter’s mind.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I just wanted to make sure that you knew about it, whatever it was, and that… and that you were safe. You are safe, right?”

Peter let out a breath.

Well the Avengers sure didn’t get their job based on powers alone. Turned out every single one of them – even the precarious Jekyll and Hyde – had some sort of deep-seated need to care about other human beings, even if they were just random street-kids that somehow kept getting in their way. Even when they refused to answer their questions, and only caused more headaches and tribulations for them. Peter had always secretly thought he was the only one that truly cared for the little guy; turned out he was wrong. The Avengers seemed to care for everyone.

Well, except Tony. Tony was only Iron Man for the fame and limelight. The prick.

Peter blinked, slightly taken aback by the thought and the anger that came with it. It was wrong, of course. Of course Tony cared about others, and –

Bruce suddenly took the paper back, folding it and putting inside his jacket. He looked back up and smiled at Peter. His gaze softened. “Hey, I know it may seem scary here, being away from your home and stuck with a bunch of people like us. But I just want you to know that… if you ever need anything, we can help you. Even if you just want to order in some pizza, or even to just talk to someone, just let us know, okay? We don’t know how long you’ll be here, and we want you to be as comfortable as you can.”

Peter stared at Bruce a moment longer, before finally mustering up words to speak. “Th-thanks,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Really, Mister Banner, thank you. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be any trouble. I promise, I won’t… I won’t get in your way.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Peter. Just as long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. We’ll find that goblin guy as soon as we can, and then you can… then you can go back home.”

Did Bruce know that Peter didn’t really have a home to go back to? Or was he just ignoring that fact in order to be polite?

But before Peter had much time to think about it, Bruce stood to his feet. “Well, I have to get back to the lab. But feel free to come down if you want. We can try and run more tests, see if everything… if everything’s okay. If you want.”

Well clearly everything was not okay, but Peter wasn’t about to tell Bruce that. At least not right now.

Peter gave a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you.”

Bruce returned an awkward smile of his own, before he finally turned around and left.

Peter watched as Bruce walked away, before finally disappearing round the corner of the hall. He was once again left with nothing but the howling of the wind and snow.

Peter leaned back in the couch, drawing up his feet against the coffee table and turning his gaze back outside. His hand wandered over his chest, feeling the raised skin of the scar beneath the fabric of the shirt.

_**I needed someone to hold it. I needed someone to take it.** _

But take what? If Peter were to take the voice seriously, if he were to actually believe what it was saying, then what was it talking about? Did this… this _Being_ , whatever it was, did it actually put something inside him when he didn’t realise it? If it did, then what the heck was it? Could it have something to do with the fact that he could now apparently draw fire from his hands? Had this… this thing given him powers he hadn’t asked for? Not that he had asked for any of his powers, but at least with the bite he could draw it up to be nothing more than an accident –

Peter pushed the thoughts away, leaning his head back against the cushion and staring unseeingly into the white oblivion beyond the window. His head was beginning to hurt, and he suddenly felt very tired. Not for the first time he wished for his attic back, so that he could run away and hide within its walls from the rest of the world, if only for a little while.

Closing his eyes, Peter began to drift to sleep, countless voices echoing into his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most exhilarating chapter, and it probably leaves more questions than answers, but this next part of the fic is where those questions will finally start to be properly answered. Don't worry, this fic is still focusing very primarily on Peter and the Avengers' loss of memory of him, so it won't spiral into something totally different. But, that being said, there is still quite a bit of story to finish getting through.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a kudo or comment! Your support means the world to me! Thank you for reading, and have a great week! <3


	14. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super-long chapter. Get your coffee and tea out again, folks!

Three days had passed since Peter had first arrived at the Avengers compound for the second time. In those three days Peter had seen exactly three people – the chef at the cafeteria, the lady that gave him his food, and the security guard that walked back and forth across the hall. The lady was nice and spoke to him politely, but aside from her, no one else said a word. And with Tony’s rule that he had to stay on this floor, Peter had nowhere else to go.

He kept mostly to his room, drifting between eating, watching television, and sleeping. Never before had his stomach felt so constantly full and his body so rested. He had to admit, he had actually forgotten what it was like.

FRIDAY would check in every once in a while, making sure that he was doing all right, that he didn’t need anything, and that no, the Goblin hadn’t been caught yet, and yes, Peter was still stuck here for a while yet.

Which brought him to where he was now: lying against the headboard on his bed, the television on mute, and his eyes staring into nothing as the gears in his mind ran non-stop.

Although nothing bad had happened yet, Peter could never fully ignore the feeling that he shouldn’t be here, that he needed to go back to New York, even though he didn’t really have anywhere else now to go back to. Memories of Tony and everyone dying played in his vision, dancing in front of his eyes, threatening him, warning him, reminding him of why he had been trying so hard to avoid them in the first place. But somehow it seemed as though the entire universe had conspired against him, and forced him to stay in the one place in the whole world he didn’t want to be.

But more than lamenting his situation and wishing he could leave, there was one thing that filled Peter’s mind more.

Bruce. Bruce and that x-ray. Bruce and that x-ray that claimed there was something underneath his skin, inside his body, right here and now at this very moment. Bruce’s suggestion that someone had put it there, that that was the reason for Peter’s scar.

He was wrong, of course, Peter knew that. The scar was there because someone had been trying to take it – whatever _it_ was – out. But if it could be removed, if it could be taken away without killing him, then did that mean it had been placed there, too? Or had it always been with him, a part of his body, like a limb or an organ? What if –

Peter shook his head. He had already run through all the what-if scenarios he could think of. Even he was growing sick of hearing them. Without more evidence or proof, he could go nowhere but in circles. He would only drive himself insane.

But fear remained.

On the fourth day, things finally started to change. The storm had finally begun to dissipate, and Peter could now actually see nearly halfway across the field in front of him. On the fourth day Peter started to see more people wandering the halls. It were as though the compound had been buried beneath the blizzard, and was now just starting to wake up. One of them even acknowledged Peter’s existence with a slight nod and hello. It was exciting stuff.

But most of all, on the fourth day – Steve came back.

Peter had been eating in the cafeteria when Clint had arrived. The man had given him a small smile, walking up to the table where Peter sat.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Peter swallowed the food that was still in his mouth. “Uh, hi,” he replied. He expected Clint to sit down, but he remained standing.

“I just wanted to let you know that the Captain’s back,” he said. “He arrived less than ten minutes ago.”

It took Peter half a second to realise what Clint meant, but when he did, he immediately pushed his food away and stood to his feet. “Really?” he asked.

He didn’t know why he was so aflutter; maybe it was because he thought he could convince Steve to let him go, remind him how he was a danger to others and needed to stay away from them as far as he could. He had convinced him before (well, sort of), he could surely convince him again. Maybe it was because he actually stood a chance at convincing Steve of who Norman Osborn really was, and what he was planning to do to Stark Industries.

Or maybe it was only for the fact that he could now actually talk to someone who would listen to him, rather than shove him in his room and lock the door behind him. Either way, Peter couldn’t deny that he was eager to see Steve.

“Where is he?” Peter asked.

“He’s actually just exiting the Quinjet I’ll take you up there now.”

Clint started to walk away, but Peter held back. “Wait, doesn’t he need to debrief?” he asked. After a mission they always needed to debrief, if nothing else than to at least keep Ross and his bureaucratic cronies off their backs.

Clint looked back at him curiously, his brows furrowing slightly together. He stared for a moment longer, before answering. “Tony’s already talked to him. They’ve actually been talking for thirty minutes on the comm. And after that long, I’m pretty sure neither of them will be wanting to speak to the other for at least the rest of the day. Now come on, let’s get up there before they disappear.”

Peter started walking. “Are you sure? Mister Stark said I’m not supposed to leave this floor.”

“Yeah, well, Stark may be the king of this castle, but I’m definitely one of the lords. So I can take you wherever I want. Besides,” he stopped at the elevator and pressed the button going up, “what Stark doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” The doors opened up and, flashing Peter a grin, Clint stepped inside. Peter quickly followed after.

The ride to the ninth – and highest – floor only took a few short seconds, and when the doors opened and Peter stepped out, he was met with a cacophony of movement and noise.

People were walking quickly back and forth across the hall, some yelling to each other while others leaned over in hushed whispers, lips moving fast and furiously. Most of them were people Peter recognised, a mixture of security and personnel that had each been personally vetted by Happy himself, while others were leftovers from Shield. So many things were happening at once that Peter couldn’t even pay attention to it all.

It was a stark contrast to the lethargic and silent life of the fifth floor.

“ _No, don’t worry about it, it’s just a cut. It will heal in a couple days.”_

Peter’s ears perked at the familiar voice and he looked over, eyes searching, until they finally landed on the man who had spoken them.

Steve.

The knot that had been twisted in his gut the past four days began to ease, and Peter found himself breathing a sigh of relief, trying not to think of how ridiculous it was that he was thankful to see an Avenger.

Someone came through the door behind him and Peter blinked, his eyes falling on a man he hadn’t seen in two years.

Bucky.

“Yo Cap,” Clint suddenly shouted above the noise. Steve looked up from his conversation with a young nurse, and met Clint’s gaze. Clint pointed to Peter. “I found your stray.”

Steve frowned for a brief moment, before his eyes trailed over to Peter and then promptly widened. He was suddenly shoving a bunch of papers in the nurse’s arms and walking quickly towards them.

“Peter,” he said, coming to a stop. He looked both bemused and pleased to see him. “Peter, what are you doing here? I thought –.”

“He got himself into some trouble in New York,” came a familiar voice. “But like the wonderful guy that I am, I bailed him out.” Tony smiled, coming to a stop beside them. He met Steve’s eyes. “Captain,” he greeted.

“Stark,” Steve replied warily.

“I would ask you how the… vacation, went, but I don’t think everyone here has all the required security clearance for that kind of conversation.” Tony turned to Clint, his fake smile still plastered to his face. “Barton, would you care to explain why you have our guest all the way up here on the ninth floor?”

“He asked to be notified when Cap came back,” Clint replied. “And I thought that after being cooped up by himself for three days, he deserved a bit of fresh air. I didn’t know there were even people on that floor.” The look he was giving Tony was evident of his disapproval, but Tony, as Tony always did, simply waved it away.

“I would have taken him out for a walk eventually. But still, I don’t think coming all the way up here is an ideal place for a stroll.”

“Well I think....”

Peter’s senses picked up the gaze of someone new, and he looked up to see Bucky standing just outside their circle, staring at him. Peter glanced over at Steve, who after a moment caught his eye, then turned back round. He motioned for Bucky to come over.

Bucky arrived at the group, nodding his head to Clint in greeting and ignoring Tony entirely. Peter frowned. He knew that the two men had never gotten along that well, after all that had happened it would have been a surprise if they did. But for as long as Peter had known them, they had at least come to a place of polite cordiality. Clearly since he’d been gone, the two had taken a few steps back in their relationship.

Steve quickly introduced them. “Peter, this is James Barnes,” he said, then motioned towards Peter. “And this is Peter Parker.” He looked back at Bucky. “Peter was the kid I was telling you about.”

“The one who escaped Stark’s guards, twice?” Bucky asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes – the kid’s a regular Houdini. Now how about we go back to where we all belong? I have a meeting I need to get to, and the soldiers here need to get back to their barracks. And Barton,” Tony said, giving Clint a look, “don’t bring the kid back up here, you got it? Got it? Good.”

With that, Tony spun around and promptly exited the group, immediately encircled by three other staff as he left.

Peter could hear Steve sigh.

“Don’t let yourself be bothered by him, Peter. He’s always that way.”

But the thing was, Peter couldn’t really remember if he actually _was_ that way, or if he was only that way to strangers. He had always been… well, an _ass_ – but he wasn’t sure if it was ever quite like this. Maybe he had just hidden it more, once Peter had come into the picture. You couldn’t exactly isolate the guy you were trying to recruit now, could you?

“Come on kid,” Clint suddenly said, walking back towards the elevator. “We might as well get back down before his majesty comes back and throws a tantrum.”

Peter gave Tony one last glance, before turning and heading into the elevator.

“I’ll come see you once we’ve cleaned up,” Steve said, staying where he was. “You’re on the fifth floor, right?”

Peter turned his eyes back to Steve and nodded. “Yeah.”

Steve gave a small smile. “All right. See you in a bit, Pete.”

“Yeah,” Peter answered quietly. “See you in a bit.”

Peter’s eyes flickered over from Steve to Bucky, who was still looking at him as the doors began to close, his gaze never leaving as the doors locked shut.

* * *

Peter watched as Clint walked ahead of him, the man’s hands behind his head as he stretched, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Peter could only frown, wondering what on earth had the man in such a good mood. They eventually came to Peter’s door, and Clint slowed to a stop. He brought his hands down, giving Peter a smile. “I guess this is your stop.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, still eyeing Clint uncertainly. “Thanks for… thanks for telling me about Steve, I mean, Mister Rogers, and… and yeah. Thanks.” Not that it had been much of a trip. They’d practically been kicked back down as soon as they’d gone up, only managing to talk to Steve for a few minutes, something that could have easily been done through FRIDAY. Peter wondered why Clint had even bothered in the first place.

As Peter opened the door and started to walk inside, Clint suddenly spoke.

“Hey, after all this is done – how would you like to come out to my place? I have a farm back in Iowa. My wife and kids are there. I know they’d be more than happy to meet you.”

Peter blinked. Okay, well that was definitely a curve ball. Of all the things Clint could have said, Peter hadn’t expected _that_.

Peter frowned, his brows furrowed together in full confusion. “What?” he asked. “Why… why would you want to do that? I mean, I appreciate the thought and everything, but I – I’m a –.”

“Laura would like to meet the guy that saved her husband’s life. Usually the ones who do that tend to be gods or crazy billionaires. It’s not often she gets to actually thank them in person.”

Peter had met Laura before. She was nice – incredibly nice. Watching her and Clint and their family had stirred up feelings in Peter that he hadn’t known had existed. It was such a warm and loving family that made Peter wonder if, had his parents not died, that life could have been his.

Which was why he had never gone out to Clint’s farm much, despite numerous offers the man had made. It was easier not to think about something when you weren’t completely surrounded by it.

Peter finally shook his head. “Thanks, Cli – Mister Barton. But I need to get back to New York. I have… I have people there waiting for me. I need to get back to them as soon as I can.” A lie, of course. Just another to add to a now very long list.

“Besides,” he said, pushing the door further in. He could feel a headache coming on. “I doubt Nathaniel or Cooper would want to give up their room for a stranger.” Least of all to someone like him.

“Nate and Coop can deal with it,” Clint replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Believe me, they’ve dealt with much worse.”

“Yeah, well – I think I’ll still pass. But thanks, Mister Barton. Really. I appreciate it.” He gave Clint one last smile, before finally walking into his apartment.

Clint stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets. “All right then, if that’s what you want. Just know then you’ve got four very grateful people back in Iowa. And one grateful person here.”

With a smile, Clint turned and began walking away. As Peter closed the door, he didn’t see Clint suddenly stop and turn round, looking back at him, his brows furrowed together as the door clicked shut.

* * *

It wasn’t until after eight o’clock when there finally came a knock at the door. Peter immediately got up from the bed and headed towards it. He had almost thought Steve had forgotten.

When he opened the door he was surprised to see not only Steve, but someone else, as well.

Bucky.

Of course Steve would bring him. Whenever they had a chance to be around each other, the two men tended to stick like glue. Well, for the most part. Whenever they were at the compound, Bucky tended to stay on his and Steve’s floor. But whenever he did come out, he was always with Steve.

“Hey Pete,” Steve said. He was holding four bags in his hands, and he gave him a smile. “Thought I’d bring some supper.”

Peter stepped back and let the two men come inside. As Bucky walked past, Peter noticed he was also carrying four more bags.

Upon opening them – Chinese, Peter was pleased to see, he hadn’t had Chinese since Before – Peter determined that the food was enough to feed at least eight regular people. Or, in this case, two super-soldiers and… well, whatever Peter was.

Once they’d sat down and had each filled a plate full of food, Steve began the interrogation.

“So,” he said, stirring his fork into his vegetables and rice, “I guess the first real question I have to ask is, what happened? Tony told me his version of events, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

Peter supposed if he even wanted to begin begging Steve to take him from the compound, he’d have to answer the most blaring question in the room.

But, if he wanted to keep his story straight, he had to get Tony’s story, first.

“What did Mister Stark say?” Peter asked, not looking up from his food.

“Tony said that you tried to get on the stage at the signing, but then that Green Goblin guy showed up and started bombing the place. When he went after him he found the guy had you in a stranglehold. By the time he got to you you’d passed out, and he thought you’d be safer if he brought you here.”

Steve stared at Peter a moment longer in silence, before saying quietly, “I told you not to go there, Peter. I told you to just let it be, and that I’d take care of it once I got back stateside. Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you have to jump in?”

Peter held back a frown. He didn’t exactly appreciate being reprimanded like a child. He supposed the only thing he could do was try and defend himself, what little he could.

“Did Mister Stark also tell you why I tried to get on the stage in the first place?” he asked.

“He said you thought Norman Osborn was going to use the contract to try and take over the company, or something like that. He didn’t seem to put much stock in it.” There was a pause as Steve looked at Peter, before he quietly asked, “Do you really think Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin?”

“Yes,” Peter said right away, his tone more forceful than he had intended. “Yes, he is. And no, I didn’t hear it from some guy on the street. I know… I know my sources. And whether you believe me or not, the truth is still the truth. You can close your ears and shut your eyes and choose not to believe, but it’s still the truth.” He swallowed. “I’m telling the truth.”

The room fell into silence. Peter picked at his food, suddenly not quite as hungry as before.

He hadn’t really factored in the possibility that they wouldn’t believe him. He should have, now that he thought of it. That should have been the most probable outcome of all. But for some reason he’d thought that, if he just told someone, if he just revealed what was going on, that they would see the truth and stop Osborn and everything would be fixed. Everyone would be saved. He hadn’t truly expected them to slough off his accusations and concerns, he hadn’t truly expected them to ignore him completely, and –

“I believe him.”

Both Peter and Steve frowned, their heads turning to Bucky.

Bucky was hunched over his plate, shoveling forkfuls of food into his mouth. He swallowed and looked up, pointing his fork at Peter. “You can see it in his eyes,” he said. He held Peter’s gaze for a few moments, before looking back down to his food. “He’s telling the truth.”

Something in Peter shifted at the words, a release, as though all the muscles in his body, if only for a moment, were suddenly able to breathe.

Steve said nothing, and the room fell back into silence.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Peter said after a moment. “The contract was lost. The deal wasn’t finished.”

Steve shook his head. “They’ll just sign another contract. I wouldn’t be surprised if they already have. The public signing was just for show; apparently Osborn was the one that wanted it in the first place. It was never actually important.”

Peter stared at Steve, his brows flickering in a frown. So he had gone through all that – he had nearly gotten himself arrested, had fought with Stromm and the Goblin, had wound up stuck back at the Avenger’s compound, the last place on earth he ever wanted to be – for nothing? It had all been for nothing?

Peter leaned back against his chair, no longer interested in his food.

Then there really was no point in his being here. There really was no point in his trying to save the Avengers; not if, in the end, his efforts surmounted to absolutely nothing. Not if, in the end, they would all be scattered and killed anyway.

Peter clenched his teeth, and for the next ten minutes said absolutely nothing.

Once Steve and Bucky had finished eating, having left Peter to his thoughts, Peter spoke up. “So when can I go home?” he asked, a little more harshly than he had intended. “Mister Stark can’t keep me here against my will, no matter what protection-bullshit he gives. The storm is past, I can go home now.” He met Steve’s eyes. “Right?”

Steve was now leaning back in his own chair, evenly returning Peter’s gaze. “No,” he said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “Not until the Green Goblin is found. For whatever reason, he seems to have a grudge against you. And besides, if we’re honest, Peter, it’s not like you have a place to go back to.” He paused, then said, “and I have a feeling that the Goblin had a hand in that too, didn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter if I have a place to go to or not,” Peter rebutted. “I live on the streets. And if I want to go back to them, that’s my choice. And that’s what I want to do.”

“Even if you have some guy with an arsenal of bombs on your tail?”

“Anywhere is better than here.”

Peter could hear Steve sigh; it was clearly not an answer he was happy with.

There was a long break after that, as all three men sat but neither spoke a word. Peter knew exactly what Steve was thinking; the man’s thoughts were by now almost an open book to him. But Bucky, on the other hand….

Bucky had never really stopped staring at him since they’d started eating; and while it didn’t bother him, Peter couldn’t help but wonder why the man thought him so interesting. If interesting was what he actually thought. He could very well just be trying to make Peter out, wondering why Steve was even bothering with someone like him. In fact, that was the answer most likely of all.

But still, after spending two years being ignored by the rest of the world, Peter couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable at suddenly being the center of someone’s attention.

“Two weeks.”

Peter blinked, looking up from his gaze out of the dark window to look at Steve, his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Two weeks,” Steve repeated. “If you stay here for two weeks, and nothing has happened, the Goblin hasn’t shown up anywhere, if he seems to have gone away… then we’ll let you go back to New York. Of course, if the Goblin is found before then, you can go home sooner. But if we can’t track him down and he doesn’t show up looking for you in two weeks, then you can go back home. Does that sound good?”

Peter thought for a moment, mulling over Steve’s words.

Did he want to stay here for two weeks? Hell no. Would he prefer to go back to New York right now, regardless of what any of the Avengers said, no matter what danger awaited him? Absolutely.

But…

But two weeks were at least not two months. And unlike Tony, at least Steve had given him an actual timeline. At least he had given him the possibility of going home, instead of giving the impression that he would be staying here for the rest of his life.

Two weeks here were still two weeks too long. But at the moment, they were the only real option that Peter had.

Unless of course he wanted to try escaping again; but somehow he knew that they would find and come after him, no matter how long and how fast he ran.

So finally, he relented.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“What was that?” Steve asked, though Peter knew full well that he had heard him.

“I said okay,” Peter said louder, looking up. He fought back an unhappy stare. “I’ll stay. But when those two weeks are up, you’re taking me straight home – do you understand? And I don’t care if you’ll just be dropping me off on the street corner. If that’s where I want to go, then… then that’s where I want to go. All right?”

“All right,” Steve agreed. “Once the two weeks are up we’ll take you straight back to New York, no questions asked. Is that good?”

“That’s good,” Peter replied.

“Good.”

The two stared at each other for a long moment, before Peter finally looked away.

It certainly wasn’t ideal. He still worried whether or not Seftis would start paying attention and decide to come after them, but… but he hadn’t yet. And maybe, just maybe, if they were lucky – he’d continue to look away for the next two weeks. And if he didn’t, well….

Peter swallowed.

Steve suddenly pushed his chair back, its feet scraping loudly against the floor, and Peter looked up. The seriousness that had painted Steve’s face before was now gone, replaced with a small, soft smile.

“Well I guess if you’re going to be here for a while, we’ll have to find you something to do. Tony may think it’s all right to keep you locked up here, but Tony also has no trouble staying in his lab for four days straight, surrounded by trash, so I wouldn’t exactly be following his example. So how would you like a tour of the facility?”

Peter wanted to stay angry. He wanted to stay frustrated and unhappy because he _was_. But Peter also knew that, unless he wanted to live the next fourteen days just like he’d endured the last three, he would have to put his resentment on the back-burner and accept Steve’s offer of a truce.

And besides, if he were honest, Steve was probably his only way off this floor and his only hope of doing at least something halfway interesting for the next two weeks.

He could still remember the first tour he’d been given, shortly after Germany. Tony had had business to do over the phone, probably with one of Ross’s people, and Peter hadn’t been scheduled to go back home for another hour. So, much to Happy’s delight, he had been given the task of “showing Peter around”. The next hour had been filled with hyper, energetic questions that Peter was fairly sure had left Happy with more grey hairs than when they had started.

After that, once Peter had started hanging around and working with the Avengers more, he had slowly begun to learn the building and all of its floors, rooms, and myriad of vast, never-ending halls. He didn’t know everything the compound held, but he sure as hell knew quite a lot.

But it had been two years since he’d last been here, and Peter couldn’t deny that he’d like to see it all again.

“Yeah,” Peter said after a few moments. “That’d be… that’d be cool. That’d be great.”

“Great,” Steve responded, his smile growing. “Tomorrow afternoon Bucky and I will stop over, and give you the official tour. It’s a pretty neat place, Pete – I think you’ll like it.”

 _Yeah_ , Peter couldn’t deny. _I think I will._

* * *

Steve showed up at Peter’s door at one o’clock the next afternoon. Bucky wasn’t with him, having chosen to stay behind on their floor. Peter didn’t ask questions and Steve didn’t give any answers, but Peter assumed Bucky simply wanted some solitude. And, with all that Peter himself had gone through in the past few weeks, he honestly couldn’t blame him.

They started from the bottom and made their way up. Steve explained what each level was primarily for, and what sort of things the Avengers compound did besides providing a home base for their team. Peter knew all these things already, of course, but he said nothing, taking in Steve’s comments and remarks in silence.

It was like seeing an old school again, once you’d graduated and gone away. He had never expected to be back here, but seeings its rooms and walking its halls again was like stepping into an old, warm memory.

And for once, it was a memory Peter was more than happy to remember.

It was once they started reaching the higher floors that they began running into people Peter knew. Whether it was old staff or even Pepper Potts herself – luckily she was talking rapidly to someone and hadn’t noticed them – Peter had to admit it was a bit surreal to be around them again.

Though now, instead of being a part of them, instead of being one of them, he instead felt like an outsider, like an interloper. Like someone whose home and everyone in it had changed, while he had been left behind and had remained the same. While he had been lost.

Which was all the more reason to get out of here when he could. Which was all the more reason to not let himself get comfortable, and to get out of here as soon as he could.

They went through the building a little while longer, Steve discreetly leaving out all the more secure parts, such as Bruce’s labs – which Peter was more than happy to skip by – and Tony’s floor, which Peter hadn’t been so happy to ignore, as that floor had also once been his and he had been hoping to see it again, if only for a little while.

Eventually Steve brought them to the sixth floor, most of which, Peter knew, were shared by him and Bucky. He had never spent much time here Before, usually choosing to circulate between Tony and Bruce’s labs; so it was interesting to finally see where Captain America and the Winter Soldier hung out when they weren’t fighting evil around the world.

“And these are the rooms Bucky and I share,” Steve said finally, opening the door.

Peter’s eyes grew wide.

If he thought his guest quarters were something to marvel at, or even his old room near Tony’s, then he was sorely mistaken.

The kitchen was huge. The living areas were huge. The entire wall at the end of the apartment was completely made of glass, looking out onto the front field of the property. Everything was sparkling clean and barely a hint of dirt or garbage anywhere.

It was a stark contrast to Tony’s living space, which had always been overflowing with leftover pizza boxes and takeout bags. Peter couldn’t help but wonder if the soldiers’ orderliness was a leftover attribute from the war, a habit still ingrained after nearly eighty years.

Or perhaps Tony was just a slob.

After walking a few steps in, Peter began to wonder where Bucky was.

“Bucky – I mean, Mister Barnes… is he all right with me coming over?” Peter asked. When he had known him, Bucky had never been a very sociable person, if at all. But Peter supposed that came with the territory after being someone’s mental and physical slave for decades on end.

“No,” Steve replied. “He doesn’t mind. I think he’s actually in the gym, right now.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “You guys have a gym?” he asked, surprised. “I didn’t know that.” He didn’t think anyone else had a personal gym that he knew of; he had to admit, he was slightly jealous.

Steve chuckled. “That’s because I hadn’t told you, yet,” he said, walking further into the room. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Peter followed Steve through a bunch of doorways and rooms, until eventually they came to a set of staircases leading down. Peter shook his head. Good grief – how much of the compound did they have?

Once down they were immediately met with a set of doors, leading into a – of course – large gym. Steve pulled open the door and they walked inside.

There were so many different stations, Peter was struggling to recognise them all. There were of course treadmills, though these were built right into the floor, making it even easier to jump on and off. There were barbells and bench presses, pull up bars and extension machines.

Peter vaguely wondered whether super soldiers even needed to work out, or if the serum just kept them naturally fit all the time; but before he could think any deeper on it, he saw Bucky coming towards them.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted.

Peter gave a brief twitch of his lips. “Hi.”

“So did Steve give you the full tour of the place?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, then backtracked. “Well, I mean, not everything. But as much as he could, anyway.”

“Well you’ve probably seen more than me, then.”

Peter frowned slightly, and Steve quickly interjected. “Bucky prefers to go only where he has to. Otherwise he just keeps to our floor.”

“There’s no point in seeing every room in the whole place. Not like I’m ever going to go back there again.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, starting to smile, “you’re like that with almost everything. It’s nice to see some things haven’t changed, even after eighty years.”

The two men shared a small smile, and in the moment, Peter couldn’t help but give a smile of his own.

There was a small pause, before Steve turned back to Peter. “So, Pete; anything you want to try? You could test out all of them, if you want. Are there any in-particular that catch your eye?”

Peter couldn’t deny that there was more than one piece of equipment that looked cool. He recognised some of them, but the vast majority were ones that he didn’t think he had ever seen before. Not that he was a connoisseur of such things, but he wasn’t totally blind to that part of the world.

Apparently seeing his indecision, Steve led Peter over to one of the sit-down machines, motioning towards it. “Here,” he said. “Try this one out. It’s called a pec deck; I think the name speaks for itself as to what it does.” He sat Peter down and began moving the arms of the machine. “Just put your hands here… make sure your elbows stay bent, and… there. Try it out, see what you think.”

 _Well_ , Peter thought, sitting down. _It’s not like I have anything else to do today. Or any day, really._ Besides, this would probably be the first and only time he’d get to hang out in the personal gym of Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Peter had to admit, it was pretty cool.

Setting his hands around the bars at each of his sides, Peter began to pull both handles towards each other in front of him.

He did it a few times, getting a feel for the weights and where the equipment was pulling at the muscles in his chest. It wasn’t difficult, in fact, Peter would say that it was pretty easy. He’d probably have to put a few more weights on in order to make the exercise actually worth while.

After a few more moments Peter looked up, and catching the soldiers’ eyes, he slowed to a stop.

Bucky was staring at him with brows furrowed and head slightly tilted, his normally stoic face now etched with a slight touch of incredulity, and not a little bit of confusion.

Steve, however, was grinning from ear to ear, a smug smile on his lips, looking very much like the cat that had finally caught the canary.

Peter was confused.

“What?” he finally asked, eyes flickering between the two men.

“Oh, nothing,” Steve said lightly, his grin never disappearing. “I just think it’s quite interesting how a seventeen year old guy who lives on the streets, who probably hasn’t eaten a regular meal in years, can pull a weight of over three-hundred pounds. Effortlessly, I might add.”

It took Peter a brief moment to realise what Steve was saying, but when he did it hit him like a bucket of ice cold water, and his eyes immediately grew wide.

Shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit, shit, _shit_.

Peter immediately let go of the handles and they fell back with a clang.

“It’s not – it isn’t – it’s not what it looks lik –.”

“Peter,” Steve interrupted. “I don’t think you can exactly talk your way out of this one. I mean, you can go ahead and try, but unless you can convince us that what we saw was just a figment of our imagination, or that three hundred pounds really isn’t three hundred pounds, then you’re out of luck.” Steve shrugged. “Sorry, son.”

Steve looked back at Bucky and raised an eyebrow. Bucky shrugged. “Guess you were right,” he said.

Steve looked back at Peter. “See, I knew you were special, Pete.”

Peter’s heart was pounding loudly in his ears, and suddenly his entire body felt searing hot.

He was trapped. No, he was more than trapped, he’d been trapped for a while but now he was actually pinned down. They’d outsmarted his defenses, they’d made it past his walls, they’d uncovered his weakness – now they had only to strike, and….

“Please,” Peter whispered. His fingers were clenched in fists against his knees, all the muscles in his body suddenly aching at once. “Please, don’t… don’t tell Mister Stark. Don’t tell – don’t tell anyone. Please, I – I haven’t gotten into any trouble, I’m not going to _make_ any trouble, I won’t – I swear –.”

“Whoa, whoa Peter, slow down – stop. We weren’t trying to ambush you, and we have absolutely no intention of revealing your secret. I just wanted to test my theory and see if I was right.” He smiled. “And it looks like I was. I mean, you couldn’t exactly expect me to ignore the fact that your broken foot healed within half a day, and that you were able to send me flying through the air half a block away. I just wanted to see if there were anything else you were capable of. Can you blame me?”

No, but that didn’t make the situation any better.

“So,” Steve said, choosing to overlook Peter’s evident discomfort and anxiety. He sat down on one of the seats in front of him with a smile. “Enhanced strength and healing. Is there anything else you can do?”

Peter desperately fought back a glare.

Fuck that, like he was going to tell him. If Steve was wanting to know all his secrets, then he was going to have to pry them from his cold, dead fingers first.

“Okay then,” Steve said, clearly getting the message. Peter’s attempt at keeping his face expressionless had evidently failed. “Maybe that was a bad question. How about how you got them, then? Were you born with those abilities, did someone give them to you, were they an accident, or…?”

Peter stayed silent. Steve may have tricked him into falling in this hole, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to pick up the shovel and dig himself further in.

When it became evident that he wasn’t going to respond to his questions, Bucky spoke up.

“Just let him be, Steve. Kid doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. It’s not our business.”

Bucky walked away and started working at one of the bench presses, not saying a single word more.

Steve stayed where he was for a moment, looking at Peter a moment longer, before he, too, stood and walked to the other side of the room, where a coffee pot sat on a small counter. He took out a mug and started pouring himself a cup.

Peter blinked, then blinked again. Before he could stop himself he was saying, “Wait, that – that’s it? You’re not – you’re not going to ask anymore questions, you’re not going to interrogate me, you’re not –.”

“Nope,” Steve said, stirring cream into his coffee. He took a sip as he turned around, leaning back against the counter. He lowered the mug and swallowed. “Why, should we?”

“Well, yeah! Don’t you need to figure out what – or, or who I am? What all I can do? To figure out if I’m a threat or not? Won’t you need to report me to Ross, or –.”

Steve raised a brow. “Really, Peter? You honestly think we would do that to you?” He took another drink, then continued, “besides, if you haven’t kept up with all the news in the past few years, General Ross and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. Forcing people to subject themselves to live under someone else’s command isn’t exactly something I’m fond of.”

Peter furrowed his brows, then asked, “but you were a soldier in the army. That’s the exact definition of what you had to do.”

“And look how that turned out for me.”

The room fell into silence.

Peter couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t _believe_ it. Here, after all this time, after all these years of hiding who he was and what he could do, he was outsmarted into revealing his secret by two ninety-year old men.

He couldn’t believe it.

Now that he took a good look, Peter could see how every machine carried more weights than any he’d seen in any other gyms. It was obvious to anyone that this was a place built specifically for serumed super-soldiers.

Obvious to everyone except him, of course. And now he was stuck here, in the most horrible and awkward situation imaginable, and he wanted nothing more than to leave, and –

Steve’s phone started ringing and the older man picked it up, Pepper’s voice reaching Peter’s ears from across the room.

She didn’t talk long, her terse tone, quick words and the way she said Tony’s name making it evident who was at fault for her frustration. Steve of course agreed to go up and talk with him, shutting the phone soon after.

He turned to Peter, slipping the phone into his pocket. “I have to go upstairs,” he said. He didn’t look particularly pleased. “So I’m afraid I’ll have to take you back to your floor.”

Peter couldn’t have been any happier to hear those words if he tried.

“That’s all right,” he said, trying not to sound relieved. He quickly stood to his feet and headed towards the door, ignoring Bucky’s ever-present stare, and pulled the handle, walking out and towards the stairs.

They spent the journey back to the fifth floor in silence, and for a moment Peter almost thought he’d gotten away with having to talk at all. But of course, just as he was about to turn the knob and enter his rooms, Steve spoke.

“I know today was a bit of a… surprising day,” he started, trying to sound light. Peter almost snorted. That was one way of putting it. “But I hope you won’t feel that you can’t come back to our floor. In fact, we would love to have you visit as often as you’d like. You’re more than welcome, by both of us.”

He held Peter’s eyes for a few moments, before sighing. “Look, Peter. I’m sorry I did that. Perhaps it was a bit unfair. But, well… I think you’ll find there’s really no one else here that are able to relate to you more than we can. So if you ever want to come over and use the gym, or even just to talk – please do. We like you, Peter. You’re a good kid. And we’d like to help you with anything it is you need. Anything at all.”

Peter stayed silent for a few moments, before muttering out a quiet, “Thank you.” Nothing more was said as the super-soldier excused himself and walked away, disappearing into the elevator as the doors closed behind him. Peter went into his room.

He spent the rest of the day watching TV, then thinking, watching TV again, and thinking again. And again. And again.

If this wasn’t the shittiest day ever, then he didn’t know what was. Well, aside from the obvious. But that didn’t count.

The thing was, though… was that there was a part of Peter that wondered if this really was as bad as he thought. Whether Steve and Bucky finding out his secret – well, part of it – was really that terrible of a discovery. It wasn’t like Seftis had barred him from telling anyone about his powers, he just couldn’t remind them of who he once was.

It felt similar to when Tony first found out his identity, having tracked him all the way down to his apartment with May in Queens. He remembered the thrill and adrenaline at seeing _the_ Tony Stark, and how all of those feelings quickly evaporated when the man had told him he knew who he was, that he’d been monitoring him for months, and that he had a laundry list of all the things he could do.

It had been like being stripped naked, suddenly vulnerable and exposed, having nothing left to possibly hide behind, having nowhere else safe to go.

But Steve wasn’t Tony. He had no family feud to throw Peter into, he had no ulterior motive for wanting to get to know him more. He had nothing but concern for his well-being, and empathy for the kind of life he now knew Peter had. He did nothing but care.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Peter realised that it was already nearly midnight. Shutting off the TV, Peter got to his feet and headed to the bed, turning the lights off as he went. He crawled under the covers, pulling them round his shoulders tight, and pressed his face into the pillow.

Maybe he would go back. Maybe he would go and hang out with Steve and Bucky again, if for nothing else than the fact that he would otherwise literally have nothing to do for the next two weeks. It wouldn’t be so bad, and maybe he’d even be able to try out their gym again. There were more than a few pieces of equipment he hadn’t recognised, and wondered whether they had been specially made for the super soldiers. It would be pretty neat to see what they could do.

Closing his eyes, Peter willed the endless stream of thoughts to go away. Tomorrow was a new day that would have all the problems of the day before and more. And for now, all Peter wanted to do was sleep.

* * *

Peter ended up going back to Steve and Bucky’s floor the next day, and the day after that. And the day after that.

The first day he simply hung out, and, to his surprise, neither man said a word about his abilities. They instead acted like everything was normal, like nothing at all was different. They ate and chatted and even talked about some of Steve and Bucky’s missions, which Peter found himself more interested in than he wanted to admit.

The second day they went back to the gym, and Steve ever-so-lightly suggested that Peter take a turn at one of the bench presses. Peter had very reluctantly agreed, and Steve and Bucky spotted him along the sidelines, though that wasn’t really needed.

They started adding more weight slowly at first, then more and more often, their frowns growing deeper and deeper as each new weight was placed. Peter, of course, lifted each with ease, until they ran out of weights to put on. By then Peter was starting to struggle, though he would never admit that to the older men.

By the end of it all, Steve was looking at Peter in complete disbelief and incredulity, as though he had accidentally stumbled across a rock that had instead turned out to be a fire-breathing dragon.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked only impressed, a small grin on his face and gleam in his eyes that suggested he was more than pleased with what they had found.

The fifth day, however, was when Bucky had come up with the grand idea of a test that would truly determine just how strong Peter was.

Steve, however, was less than impressed with the idea.

“An arm wrestle, Buck? Really?”

“Sure,” Bucky said, grinning at Peter. Peter was starting to realise just why Steve and Bucky were such good friends.

“We have numerous other ways of testing someone’s strength; we’re living underneath a _Stark_ , after all.”

“Yeah, and he’s beaten every one of those. There’s only one test left.”

“And you figure that’s to have an arm wrestle?”

“Yep.”

Steve gave a frustrated sigh and turned away, muttering under his breath about soldiers and egos.

Peter, though, was more than thrilled with the idea. He had never had much of a chance to truly test out his strength on something that could actually be a real barometer of his abilities, and the prospect was more than a little exciting.

Especially when that prospect was potentially beating the Winter Soldier in an arm wrestle.

Sitting down at the table, Bucky placed his elbow on the glass, meeting Peter’s eye. “All right kid, you ready?”

Excitement pumped through Peter’s veins, and he was sitting down before he’d even known he’d moved, and speaking before he’d realised he’d opened his mouth: “Hell yeah!”

He made to set his elbow on the table, but just as he did Bucky switched his hands, placing his metal arm on the table instead.

Peter immediately cried foul.

“Hey now, that’s not fair! You can’t use your arm, you –.”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relented, switching back. “But if you beat me with my right, I get to try with my left.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter waved away. “Let’s get this started.”

Both Peter and Bucky clasped hands, each with a grin on their face. They waited for a moment, then another, and then another, before both abruptly turned and looked at Steve.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“You’re the referee, Steve,” Bucky stated.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “You gotta say go.”

“Oh brother.” With another sigh and a roll of his eyes, Steve waved his hand. “All right, on the count of three… one, two, three – _go_.”

The two men struggled for twenty, short seconds, before Peter slammed Bucky’s arm down onto the table.

He shouted in success. “Yes!”

Both Bucky and Steve could only stare; Bucky in that he had lost, and lost so easily, and Steve in that he was starting to wonder just what kind of kid they were actually dealing with.

Peter, however, was grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s all right, Bucky,” he laughed. “You gotta get old sometime, we can’t all be young forever.”

Bucky’s stunned disbelief was quickly replaced with a determined glare, and he brought his metal arm onto the table, dropping it down with a clang.

“All right kid, let’s see how you do with this one.”

Peter grinned and placed his arm back on the table. “You’re on, old man.”

Seconds before they were about to start, FRIDAY’s suddenly voice rang through the room, bringing everyone to a stop.

“ _Captain Rogers, Boss is at the door and requesting entry.”_

Everyone was silent for a moment, before Steve spoke. “Let him in.”

The door clicked and a moment later Tony walked in. The atmosphere in the room fell, suddenly growing dark. Peter and Bucky removed their hands from the table, and watched as Tony entered the room.

“My my, aren’t we are just getting along nice and chummy? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you guys were playing Mario Kart in here.”

Neither Peter nor Bucky said anything, and Steve just sipped from his cup of coffee. Swallowing, he asked, “How can we help you, Tony?”

Tony’s eyes roamed over Bucky and Peter, staying on the latter just a little longer than the former, before turning his attention to Steve. “I need you upstairs. Romanov and Barton are there, and so is Bruce. Ross will be on call in twenty minutes.”

“All right,” Steve said. “And you needed to come all the way down here for that?”

“I heard you had a visitor, so I wanted to see for myself how he was doing.” Tony turned to Peter. “You sure seem to be making a lot of friends here, kid. You must be quite the likable guy.”

Peter didn’t know why, but something in the way Tony’s spoke made his stomach twist into a knot, and sent a thrum of annoyance through his veins. It sounded snarky, it sounded… it sounded petulant. As though Tony were remarking on a fact that he very much didn’t like, and in the same breath questioning whether it was even true.

Peter frowned. It wasn’t his fault that he was getting along with Steve and Bucky, and even Clint. If for whatever reason they didn’t find him horrible to be around, that wasn’t his crime. So what business did Tony have coming in here and complaining about it like a child? What did he care if Peter was spending time with other Avengers? He was going to be gone in just over a week anyway, so how could it possibly matter –

“He’s a good kid,” Steve said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. He set his mug down on the counter and started walking towards Tony. “Definitely more fun to hang around with than with other people around here. Now come on, let’s go.” He walked past Tony and out into the hall, not waiting for the other man to catch up. Tony kept his face cool, glancing back at Peter and Bucky once more before walking after the soldier, shutting the door behind him with a bang.

Peter and Bucky sat in silence for a good few minutes, the tension in the air still thick, until Bucky finally spoke. “Don’t let him get to you, kid,” he said. “He’s always an ass.”

Except he hadn’t been. Maybe, from all that he’d heard, Tony had been that way before Afghanistan, but he thought he’d changed afterwards. And after they started to know one another, he’d heard others say the older man’s temperament had gotten even better. So what the heck had changed?

After a few minutes of angry mental tirades, Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by Bucky, whose chair screeched against the floor as he stood to his feet.

“Come on kid,” he said. “Whenever Stark pisses me off, I find it best use up all my energy as fast as I can. That way I can’t find him and beat him to a pulp.” He started walking towards towards the door, before looking back at Peter. “Let’s go outside to the track. You obviously have some strength in you. You may be able to beat my weak arm, but let’s see how good you are in a race.”

Peter was still frustrated, he would even dare to say he was angry, but he found Bucky’s offer of actually being able to go outside – snow or not – too good to pass up. He’d been cooped up inside for over six days now; it would be a breath of fresh air to finally get, well – a breath of fresh air.

The track had already been cleaned off when they got there; they probably kept it maintained for all the super-soldiers, regular soldiers, and other enhanced people that tended to regularly hang around the place.

It was a warm day for November, so Peter didn’t bother with a coat. The sky was overcast, but the light still bright, the area made even more by the reflecting snow. Peter’s breath misted in the cold, but he didn’t care. He was outside, breathing clean, non-city air, about to actually go for a run; he couldn’t be happier.

“All right,” Bucky said, walking up to the starting line. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, his metal arm shining brightly in the few rays that managed to make it through the clouds. “I ain’t gonna make this easy on ya, kid. Twenty-five laps; the guy who makes it the fastest is the winner. Got it?”

Peter took his place at the line, pressing his feet into the ground. “Got it.”

“Okay,” Steve said, lowering down. “On the count of three – one, two, three – go!”

* * *

Steve was annoyed. Okay, he was more than annoyed, he was frustrated. Even maybe a little bit angry. Half the things they had talked about in the meeting were things he had thought they’d hashed out during their… disagreement, three years ago. But here they were, arguing like it had never happened. Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he could take of it, before steam would start shooting through his ears.

He was now standing at the wall, which was really just one large window, staring out onto the track and field, watching as two figures – Bucky and Peter, he recognised – stood at the starting line.

Good, that was good. They both needed to get outdoors for a while. And he had to admit, it was nice to see Bucky so comfortable around the kid. He honestly wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d seen Bucky interact this much so positively with someone else. And the kid, well…. The kid was still a mystery to him, but it was evident that going out for a run could only do him wonders of good.

He heard footsteps behind him, and knew without turning that Tony was behind him. They both watched the two figures in the distance as they started to run.

The silence only lasted a few moments before Tony spoke. “I don’t know what you see in him.” It was clear who he was talking about.

“He’s a good kid,” Steve defended. “And I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

“Well he sent my security running in circles, for one.”

“He was frightened, and I guess you just have bad security.”

“Not to mention he’s pretty ungrateful. I mean, I practically waved the thank-you money in his face, and he threw it back at me like it was nothing. Who does that?”

“Not everyone’s obsessed with money, Tony. Most don’t need it to be happy. Of all people, I would have thought you’d have figured that out, by now.”

There was a pause, then, “He disrupted the signing; he practically tried to attack me onstage.”

“He told you why he wanted it stopped, and Tony – _don’t_. You know that’s not at all what he was trying to do, so don’t even pretend to act like it was. He felt that the signing would result in your company getting stolen – he was trying to look out for _you_ , no matter how wrong you think he was.”

Tony fell into silence, and the two watched as Bucky and Peter went into their fourth lap.

Steve began to think he had dropped the conversation, but after a few minutes the billionaire spoke up again with a scoff. “I don’t know why Barne’s is humouring the kid; they both know he can outrun him. Unless he just wants to be able to say he ran against the Winter Soldier.”

Steve tried not to roll his eyes. “Some people just like to run, Tony,” he said. “And if Bucky wants to humour him, then let him. There’s no harm done.”

Bucky and Peter had now entered into their eighth lap, and Steve couldn’t help but be a bit impressed by Peter’s stamina. Even if Bucky was slowing down to let him keep pace, they were still both going pretty fast.

Steve frowned. In fact….

“I just don’t know what you see in him, Cap,” Tony repeated, continuing to look out the window soldier and teenager. “I mean, he’s polite enough, if you want to even call it that. But there’s just something off about him….”

Something suddenly clicked in Steve’s head and his frown deepened.

Bucky… Bucky was running. He was running fast. He’d seen Bucky run many times throughout their lives, he knew what it was like when he was just going for a jog, or just trying to get somewhere quick, or when he was running as fast as he possibly could. He thought he’d been holding back with Peter, but he actually wasn’t. He was running flat out. He wasn’t trying to keep pace with Peter, he was trying to _beat_ him.

“…I appreciate what he did for Barton, really, I do. But I think that was simply a matter of him being in the right place at the right time….”

Peter was running, too. Running as fast as he could. They were even. Both the Winter Soldier – a serumed super-soldier, and Peter Parker – a homeless kid from the streets of New York that he still knew so little about – were neck in neck. They were equal.

“…look, I’ll offer him a place again. Maybe with you here he’ll actually take it. But if he says no, then that’s it. I won’t be offering it again. If the streets are where he wants to be, then I won’t stop him….”

Steve watched as they passed their fifteenth lap, then sixteenth, then seventeenth. They remained at equal pace the entire way, that is, until, the eighteenth lap.

Steve’s brows twitched as they furrowed and he suddenly leaned forward, as on the eighteenth lap, Peter began to pull ahead. Peter had pulled ahead, against Bucky – against the Winter Soldier – who was running as fast as he could. He’d _pulled ahead._

“…I already had Happy give him some money for me, so that should keep him for a while. After that it’s up to him, and –.” Tony’s words came to an abrupt halt, as his eyes finally registered what Steve’s had just seen.

Both men leaned forward towards the window, as they watched Peter continue to put greater and greater distance between him and Bucky. And he wasn’t slowing down.

After a few moments of silence, Tony asked, “Barne’s is just letting him win, right?” He turned to Steve, a frown etched deep on his face. “Right?”

Steve said nothing, but could tell from his silence that whatever Tony had seen in his face, had just answered the question for him.

Tony turned back to the window, and the two men watched as Peter now pulled nearly half a lap ahead, until he finally came to the finish line and began slowing to a stop.

He had won. Peter… Peter had _won_.

* * *

“YES!”

Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest, but for once it wasn’t from anger or fear or terror, but from excitement and exhilaration, and – and – and he had just won against the Winter Soldier! He’d _won!_

Peter spun round, continuing to jog backwards as he slowed down, watching as Bucky finally crossed the finish line. Peter came to a stop, still bouncing on his feet as Bucky finally caught up to him.

“That was great!” Peter shouted. God, he didn’t think he’d been this excited since – since –

Bucky was leaned over, his hands on his knees as he fought for breath. It was an odd sight to see, and for a moment Peter wondered if something was wrong, because while his heart was racing and he felt tired, he certainly didn’t feel exhausted. In fact, he could almost do another five laps yet. But he doubted Bucky would agree.

Like a dam let loose, Peter’s mouth couldn’t stop running. “Did you see that? Did you see how I finally started making ground on the eighteenth lap? I thought it would never happen! I swear, I thought we’d stay the same for the entire time, but then I thought – then I thought, I _have_ to win. Like, I have nothing else going for me, I at least have to win so I can say I beat the _Winter Soldier!_ How many people would be jealous of that, huh? Like, _so_ many people would. I’d be like, a celebrity, or a hero, or a – a –.”

Peter swallowed, catching his breath before continuing. “Really though, I don’t think it was exactly fair. You stumbled towards the end, and I think if you hadn’t done that, you’d have probably caught up, or –.”

“Peter.”

“– or at least made it a whole lot closer. We could try again, if you want, once you’ve caught your breath and –.”

“Peter.”

“– and I’m sure this time we’ll at least stay neck and neck, though I don’t think I could let you beat me. Sorry Mister Barnes, but I’ve got a record to defend, and –.”

“ _Peter.”_

Peter finally stopped talking, stumbling over his feet and falling onto his backside on the ground. He laughed, enjoying the feeling of the cold snow beneath his hot skin. “Yeah?” asked.

Bucky was still leaned forward, his face still hidden, his chest moving rapidly in and out. “Peter.”

“What?”

“Peter.”

Now Peter was getting confused. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Bucky was silent for a moment, before saying, “You’re… you’re Peter.”

Peter furrowed his brows and shook his head, laughing slightly in confusion. Maybe Bucky’s mind was having an issue processing. He knew that had happened a lot when he had first come back from Hydra.

Peter’s own chest still heaved as his heart began to slow down. “Yes, hi – that’s me. I’m Peter. You met me a week ago, when I was oh-so-kindly kidnapped again – this is what, the third time now? The fourth? I can’t keep track anymore. I –.”

“No.”

Peter’s words stumbled to a stop, and he frowned. “Um, actually, yes, that’s when you met me. I had been looking for Steve, and you guys had just got back from your mission, and –.”

“No,” Bucky interrupted again.

He finally looked up, and for the first time Peter saw his face. His eyes were wide and brows were furrowed tightly together, as though he were having some internal struggle. Peter suddenly felt completely out of his depth; he had never been with Bucky when he had experienced memory issues before, he had no clue what to do or what to say, or if he should just go get Steve, or… or….

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head once more before grabbing it between his hands. He looked as though he were in pain.

It was time to get Steve.

“Look,” Peter said, moving his legs so he could stand. “I think I’m going to get Steve, and –.”

“You’re… you’re Peter… you’re Peter Parker.”

Peter took a breath, trying not to sigh. “Yes,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “Yes, I am. I’m Peter Parker. And I –.”

But Bucky didn’t let him finish. “You… you were in Germany. With Stark. You were… you were red, and – and blue. You were in a red and blue suit. You called yourself – you called yourself _Spider_ –.”

Bucky suddenly keeled over, grabbing his head again and groaning loudly.

Peter stared.

The heartbeat that had finally slowed suddenly began to speed up again, and the sounds around him were replaced with a loud, white noise, filling his ears.

Bucky took a breath, and then another, before looking back up. “You called yourself _Spider-Man._ You… you had been recruited by Stark. You were… you at the compound, a lot. You helped us with our missions, and you – you helped us defeat Thanos, and – and –.”

Bucky’s wide eyes finally looked over and met Peter’s own. “I remember,” he said, then said it again. “I remember.” He finally met Peter’s gaze, a recognition in his eyes that Peter hadn’t seen in nearly two years.

Bucky frowned, then shook his head. “Peter, what happened? I don’t – I don’t understand –.”

And neither did Peter. Because what Bucky had said was impossible. It couldn’t be real. He had to be hearing things, he had to be seeing things, because if this dream that he had suddenly fallen into was real, then that meant – that meant –

That meant that Bucky had remembered.

_Bucky had remembered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you! Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo - your support means the world to me!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and have a great week!


	15. Recordatus Memorias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just... wow. Your guys' response to the last chapter was literally overwhelming, and I am just so incredibly grateful and appreciative of you all. Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment and leave kudos - you guys are amazing, and are why I've been able to keep making my way through this. Thank you!!
> 
> This chapter was a real struggle to write, and I'm going through some things with real life and work, thus the long wait. And so I hope that everything makes sense and turned out all right.
> 
> I think bringing your coffee and tea should just be mandatory, now :P

Peter stared.

And stared.

And stared more.

The adrenaline from the race was still in his veins, but it had morphed into something else, excitement and exhilaration now replaced with… with….

With he didn’t know what. He had no clue what he was feeling, if anything at all, because what had just happened – what was happening – couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be true. It had to be a mistake, it had to be an accident, it had to be his imagination because there was just… there was just no way that it could be true, not really, because – because –

Because everyone’s memories had been erased. They were completely gone; burned in fire, the smoke scattering them through the air, never to be retrieved, never to be found again. Never to be remembered.

They simply couldn’t remember. It was impossible.

Peter swallowed.

_It was impossible._

“Peter?” Bucky said. His eyes were unusually wide, a vulnerability in them that Peter didn’t think he had ever seen before. “Peter, please – please tell me what happened, I – did I….” Bucky paused, and his breath suddenly quickened. “Did I get put into cryo again? Did – did Hydra come back, did they – did they find me, did they –.”

“No.”

Bucky frowned, shaking his head. “Then what –.”

“You aren’t – I’m not –.” Peter took a breath, his voice shaking. “You’re wrong. You’re – you’re mistaken. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am, I never – I’ve never been to Germany, I – I’ve never worn a suit like that, I’ve never been called _Spider-Man_ , I –.”

Bucky looked even more conflicted, his browns knit tightly together as he continued to lean forward toward the ground.

“What – what do you mean? I swear – I swear, these are real memories, I –.”

Peter’s hands curled into fists, and his teeth clenched together. “They’re not real,” he said forcefully. “Whatever it is you think you’ve remembered, you’re… you’re wrong. My name is Peter Parker, I – I’ve been living on the streets for four years, I don’t – I’ve never met you or Mister Rogers or Mister Stark or anyone else before now; I’m just a homeless street bum, I don’t – I don’t have any special abilities, I can’t do anything special, I’m not _anyone_ special, I –.”

Bucky interrupted again, shaking his head once more. “But… but I can see you, I can see your face, you… in Germany, when we were fighting, you – you grabbed my hand, you grabbed my hand and you were able to stop it, and push it back, and –.”

Peter abruptly stood up, his hands still gripped tightly into fists at his side. “It’s not real,” he repeated. “Those memories aren’t real, they’re not – you’re mistaken. You’re mistaken.”

Peter turned away, looking everywhere else except at Bucky’s face. “I have to go,” he said quickly. “I have… I have to go. Thank you for the race, it was… it was….” Peter swallowed once more, then repeated, “I have to go.”

And turning on his heel, Peter left, Bucky’s voice as he shouted his name echoing behind him.

* * *

Bucky pushed the door open, stumbling into the compound. He looked down the halls, trying to find where Peter went.

Bucky was confused. He was so, so terribly confused he couldn’t – he couldn’t even think, much less understand what was happening.

He took a few steps forward, then slumped against the wall, gripping his head once more.

They had been near the last lap, Bucky’s eyes following Peter as he pulled further and further ahead of him, wondering just how on earth Peter could possibly be beating him; how he not only had greater strength, but greater legs and endurance than him. It had made no sense. Where on earth had this kid come from, how could he possibly be stronger and faster than a super-serumed soldier, and –

And that’s when it happened. That’s when everything flashed like lightning in front of his eyes, and pictures – memories – of Peter started running through his mind like a kaleidoscope, each memory flashing by faster than the last, images of Peter smiling and laughing, trading endless quips with Stark or with anyone who would talk with him; images of Peter at the compound, eating with them, talking with them, training with them, _one_ of them. Images of Peter wearing a red and blue suit, of shooting webs from his wrists – from web-shooters he had built himself – and swinging through the air, fighting enemies, being called _Spider-Man._

Bucky had stumbled, then, nearly falling to the ground, managing to make it to the end and telling Peter, telling him that he remembered – that he _remembered_ him, and –

But Peter had denied it. He said that what he’d remembered wasn’t true, that it wasn’t real.

But – but Bucky swore, he _swore_ that these memories weren’t fake, he swore that they were real, that they had happened, that they were true, so why – why had Peter –

It could be Hydra, again. Somehow, someway – maybe they had done something else to him that he didn’t know about, that was now placing memories in his mind instead of taking them away, making him believe a past that wasn’t real, throwing him into another endless chasm of fear and questions, turning in circles after circles, wondering what was true –

Bucky shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought back the panic storming inside him. He just couldn’t… he couldn’t….

“Bucky?”

The chaos in Bucky’s mind momentarily calmed, and Bucky looked up to see Steve walking towards him, concern growing on his face with every step he took.

“Bucky, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay, are you –.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. There was no point in lying to Steve, not after all they’d been through, and certainly not if he wanted to find out what was happening.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Steve asked. “What’s going on? Where’s Peter?”

“Peter… Peter, he… something’s wrong, and he….”

“Did he say something was wrong? Is that why he ran away like that?”

Tony had never liked talking about what happened on Titan with Thanos, only that Peter was there and then the Snap had happened, and after that everything was horrible. He had known that Peter had been taken in the Snap, but had never been told the particulars. It had always seemed that neither he nor Stark had ever wanted to talk about it; but from how Stark acted whenever the topic was brought up, it had obviously been bad.

Stark had always treated the kid too much like a son.

Steve sighed, settling down onto the floor across from Bucky. “Buck, Peter, he… he’s a special kid. He’s got a lot going on in his life, a lot of things have happened to him that I still don’t know anything about. But… but I don’t know, I just… I just think there’s something special about him. I think he’s had it rough, more than most, and I think he deserves a break, you know?”

There was silence for a moment, then Bucky asked, “Why does he keep running? If… if he’s had it rough, then why… why does he keep running every time someone tries to help him?”

“Same reason you ran, Buck,” Steve said with a sigh. “He thinks… he thinks that someone is after him. That he shouldn’t be around us because if he is, we might somehow get hurt. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but that’s what he believes.”

Peter’s voice echoed in Bucky’s ears: _Th_ _ey’re not real!_

Bucky blinked, and looked up to Steve still looking down at him with concern.

“Steve….” Bucky swallowed. “Steve, how… how do you know when a memory is real?”

Steve stared at Bucky for a moment longer, before slowly sitting down against the wall opposite him.

“You’re having problems remembering again, Buck?” Steve asked quietly.

“I… I think so,” Bucky responded. It had been so long since he had had an Incident, since he had been left wondering which way was real and right side up. After spending all that time in Wakanda, he had gotten so much better – the tools they had given him to reclaim his past had worked so well, had given him back the life he had thought Hydra had stolen forever.

But here he was again, faced with a sudden flood of memories that he wasn’t sure had even happened.

He could hear Steve take a breath.

“Well then, you just need to remember what the people in Wakanda taught you – ‘that truth can be hard to find, but when found is greater than all the treasures and gold the world has to offer’.” Steve paused for a moment, then asked, “and what did they say about knowing what that truth is?”

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to quell the tide of fear and panic that continued to ebb and flow within him. “They said… they said that memories – true memories – beat inside you, like a second heart. That… that they can warm you up inside, but also tear you apart. And that… and that tears….”

“‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes; in looking on the happy autumn fields, and thinking of the days that are no more’,” Steve finished.

They were silent for a moment, before Steve continued. “Memories leave an impression on you; they can bring you happiness or sorrow, no matter how long it has been since they happened.” He looked Bucky in the eye. “Does what you remember do that to you, Bucky? Do you remember the feelings you felt when what you remember happened, or is it like looking on a television screen? Do you feel you were actually there, can you see everything from your own eyes? Or are you standing to the side, like someone in the audience, watching a play? Aware of what’s going on, but never apart of it?”

Bucky stared back at Steve, saying nothing, as his friend’s words sunk in.

With Peter… with everything that he now remembered, he felt… he felt….

He felt surprise. Surprise at how this guy in a blue and red suit was able to stop his punch mid-swing, and actually push him effortlessly to the side.

He felt shock. Shock when _Spider-Man’s_ real identity was revealed, and he found out that the man he had thought he’d once fought was instead a fifteen-year-old boy.

He felt happiness. Happiness and contentment when Peter started coming over to the compound more and more, when he started training with them, when he would talk a mile and minute, not even allowing the great Tony Stark to get a word in edgewise.

He remembered going on missions with him, how wary he had been at first to go into a battle-zone with a child; but then he had remembered how he had fought alongside countless teenagers during the War, and how he had witnessed first hand the bravery and courage that they could possess, when men over twice their age did not.

As Bucky continued to dwell on his memories, the uncertainty and confusion that had been tossing within him came to a stop, and settled into calm silence.

No. Whatever Peter was saying, he was wrong. He wasn’t just some kid from the street, he wasn’t someone who had been homeless for four years. He was Peter Parker – a teenage prodigy to put Tony Stark to shame, who had the ability to climb walls and swing over a thousand feet into the air. He had strength and endurance that they had yet to truly know, and he had saved him and the Avengers more than they would ever want to admit.

He remembered. And no one – not even Peter – could take that away from him.

Bucky suddenly stood to his feet, and Steve quickly followed.

“You good?” Steve asked tentatively. “You… you know where you are now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice strong. “I do. And I have to go.”

Steve frowned as Bucky stared to move, walking away. “Wait, Bucky – where are you going? Is something wrong? What happened out there with you and Peter? Did he –.”

A thought suddenly ran across Bucky’s mind, and he turned around, staring at Steve with confused eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

It was Steve’s turn to look confused, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. “Buck, what are you talking about? What didn’t I tell you?”

“About Peter! Why didn’t you tell me who he was? How – how did I even forget him in the first place?”

“Peter, what – Bucky, what are you talking about? Are you talking about the race? I swear, I didn’t know he would be able to outrun you like that. I mean, we both knew he was strong, and he beat you in your ridiculous arm wrestle, but I didn’t think he’d actually be able to run faster than you –.”

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “No, that’s not – that’s not what I’m talking about. I want to know why you didn’t tell me that I had forgotten him! And where –.” Bucky’s brows furrowed together, questions suddenly starting to form in his mind that he hadn’t thought about before. “And where has he even been? The last… the last time I remember seeing him was… was probably two years ago, a few months after Thanos, but that… that doesn’t make any sense. Where has he been since then? Did – did he have a falling out with Stark, or –.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s confusion had now given way to surprise and concern, as though Bucky had suddenly started speaking an alien language that he couldn’t understand. “Bucky, I don’t – what on earth are you talking about? You only met Peter a few days ago, and I only met him not long before that. And Tony only met him a day before the incident with that Green Goblin, so I don’t – I don’t understand what you’re saying, or – or –.”

Realisation started clicking in Bucky’s mind, and though Steve didn’t understand what was happening, Bucky slowly was.

“You don’t remember,” he said, confirming out loud what he already knew was true.

Steve shook his head in exasperation. “Remember _what?_ ”

Bucky didn’t answer and instead turned round, making his way down the hallway towards the nearest elevator.

Steve was shouting behind him. “Bucky, remember _what?!_ ”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. Because he had to find Peter – and he had to find him now.

* * *

Peter was lost.

He was sitting in his bed, all the lights turned off, only the barest of light seeping through the curtains. He had his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around them, his eyes staring into the darkness.

It was impossible. It was wrong. It was the most horrible dream he had ever dreamed, but… but….

But somehow it was still real.

It was his fault, of course. It was entirely his fault. For two years he had been able to keep his secret, he had been able to avoid running into the Avengers, or worse – talking with them or even staying with them. But of course now, now after all this time, he had to mess up. He had to fuck up so badly that the one thing Seftis had told him not to do, he ended up doing.

He’d caused someone to remember.

Except that he couldn’t have. Because it was impossible. Because he had sat there in the streets for two years waiting for someone to come get him, waiting for someone to remember him, waiting for the power of love to bring back their memories and all that shit, but it hadn’t happened. It hadn’t happened and he’d accepted it. He’d fucking _accepted_ it, and now – and now, just when he had gotten over the fact that he was alone in the world, just when he’d gotten over the fact that his life would never go back to the way it was, now all of a sudden Bucky had to go spewing and uttering such bullshit nonsense, and –

A knock suddenly rapt at the door. Peter jumped, but stayed where he was.

A voice came a moment later.

“Peter!”

It was Bucky, of course. Of course it was him. Of course he would follow him and not leave him well enough alone. Of course he would have questions and want answers and –

“Peter, let me in! I know you’re in there, so just open the door!”

He never should have stayed here. He never should have allowed himself to grow comfortable and let his guards down. He never should have forgotten the threat.

“You can’t stay in there forever. I know – I remember everything. I don’t know how the hell I ever forgot, or what the hell happened but you need to let me in so we can talk. Why the hell did you run in the first place? Huh?!”

Peter still didn’t respond, and Bucky growled, starting to grow angry.“Look,” he said, bringing his voice to barely more than a whisper. “I know you can hear me, Peter. You can hear better than anyone I know, and that’s saying a hell of a lot. So just let me in.”

When there still remained silence, Bucky finally had enough.

“Fine,” he said loudly. “Fine. If you won’t talk to me, then I’m going to talk to Stark. I know Steve doesn’t remember you, but maybe Stark does, or one of his computers or – or something. I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

Bucky started to walk away, but at that moment he suddenly heard the frantic footsteps, followed by the opening of a door.

He turned back round to see Peter standing in the doorway, his eyes wide in a manic stare as he looked at him, his jaw clenched tightly together. In the next moment he all but grabbed hold of Bucky’s arm and wrenched him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky stumbled inside, and Peter locked the door. He turned back to the older man, immediately shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone. Please, you can’t – you can’t tell anyone, if you do you’ll –.”

“Then tell me what the hell is going on!” Bucky shouted. “Where the _hell_ have you been the last two years? Why does Steve think he only met you a week ago? Why –.”

“Because – because –.” The words caught in Peter’s throat, and no matter how much Bucky insisted he speak them, he could not get them out.

Finally he settled for something less. “I can’t tell you why. Only that it doesn’t matter – not any more. You weren’t supposed to remember – no one was supposed to remember. But it’s fine, I – I’ve gotten over it, I’ve dealt with it, it’s – it’s not a big deal –.”

Bucky watched Peter with incredulity as the younger man tried to stumble his way through an excuse, as he tried to clearly both convince Bucky and himself that everyone having forgotten him was not important. Then, like gears and wheels clicking together, and Steve’s words echoing in his ears, Bucky knew why.

“You think someone’s after you. You think if any of us remember you, that we’ll be in danger.”

Peter’s guilty eyes looked up and met Bucky’s, and that was all the confirmation he needed. But the look in his eyes held more than just guilt – there was fear, too.

And finally Bucky understood.

“Someone _is_ after you,” he said quietly. When Peter didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Who is it? What’s their name? Do we know them? Are they –.”

“I told you, it’s not important!” Peter interrupted. “Whatever happened is now in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore!”

Bucky scoffed. “Well obviously it does still matter if you refuse to talk about it.”

Silence descended upon the room for a few moments, the atmosphere growing thick as neither man said a word.

Peter’s arms were wrapped around his middle, squeezing his sides tightly as he fought to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

He felt like an animal trapped in a corner, its prey looming over it, nowhere to run and nowhere to escape.

It was ridiculous. An hour ago he had been happier than he had ever been in two years; and now he didn’t think he had ever been so angry and frightened in all his life.

Bucky was speaking again, but he was no longer listening. He had turned away, all but covering his ears in an attempt not to listen, in an attempt to believe – if only for a little while longer – that this was all just a terrible dream.

The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck suddenly stood up as he felt something moving towards him. Instinctively he spun around and put up his arm, ready to defend himself in case –

Peter blinked as his gaze met Bucky’s, who was looking at him wide, incredulous eyes. Finally after a moment, Bucky went and sat down by the kitchen island, dropping his head into his hands, muttering quietly. “God, I think I’m gonna puke.”

Peter took a step back, and then another, until his back met the wall. Bucky looked up above his hands and the two pairs of eyes met once more. They stared evenly at each other for a few moments, until Peter finally spoke.

“I’m going home in a week,” he said quietly. “I’m going back to New York in a week. You don’t… you don’t have to say anything to anyone. No one… no one remembers me, that’s true, but… but that happened a long time ago now. It’s over. It doesn’t matter anymore, I’ve – I’ve moved on with my life. And I –.”

“What’s his name?”

Peter blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What’s his name?” Bucky repeated. “The one who did this – what’s his name?”

“He… he doesn’t… I’m not supposed to –.”

“His name, Peter. Tell me what his name is _now_.”

Peter’s tongue fumbled in his mouth, not knowing what to do. On the one hand, he knew he wasn’t supposed to tell him – that this was the furthest thing he should tell anybody. But on the other hand… on the other hand, Bucky already had his memories back, so really, at this point, was there any real wrong way down and right side up anymore?

“I – I can’t –.”

“Peter, this guy took my memories from me – he fucked me over without my even knowing it. I have a right to know who did this to me, I have a right to know his name, I _deserve_ to know his name; so the least you can do, because you sure as hell aren’t telling me anything else, is tell me what his Goddamn _name_ is and –.”

“ _Seftis_.”

The name was like tar on his tongue, refusing to come off after having settled there for so long, not having been spoken out loud for two years.

“And who is Seftis?” Bucky demanded. “When did he show up? What did he do to you?”

Peter looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t… it doesn’t –.”

“Peter.”

The tone of Bucky’s voice was like an iron grip on Peter’s face, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes once more. When they met, Bucky continued, his stare even and hard, and his voice exactly the same. “If you think that I’m going to just pretend like this never happened, if you think I’m just going to let this all go – then you’ve got another thing comin’ for ya, kid.”

He could feel himself breaking. Could feel the outer walls of his defenses begin to break as Bucky lay siege upon them, as he refused to back away, no matter how many times he told him he would be in danger if he did.

That was the problem with this little group that Tony and Shield had made – they were all too damn self-sacrificing for their own good. Even when it killed them.

Peter’s eyes were growing hot, anger and despair bubbling inside his chest, and he found himself shaking his head once more.

“How did you remember?” he asked, his voice breaking. “You weren’t supposed to remember. No one was ever supposed to remember.”

Bucky’s face softened, the lines between his brows fading as he leaned back in his chair with a sigh, saying, “I’ve gotten pretty good at remembering things, that others would rather I forget.”

There was silence after that, Bucky waiting for Peter to speak and Peter not knowing what to say.

Bucky leaned forward and asked again, one last time. “How did we all lose our memories, Peter? What did Seftis do?”

There was a pause, a breath, and then Peter finally spoke.

“He just… showed up one day. Mister Stark and I, we were… we were fighting him. He’d been hurting people down by the docks, attacking the city. A… a few days later he took me. I tried to fight him, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t strong enough, and….” Peter swallowed, looking down at the floor. “The next thing I knew I was waking up in an alley, and… and everyone had forgotten me.”

He looked up, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “Seftis said if I tried to talk to anyone I knew, if I tried to tell them what had happened and who I was, that he… that he would come back, and kill everyone. He would find each and every person I ever knew, and millions of innocents, and kill them all.” His voice was starting to shake, and the heat in his eyes grew as they started to sting. He had never spoken any of this out loud, he had never told anyone, he wasn’t _supposed_ to tell anyone –

“So you’ve been by yourself then, for the last two years?” Bucky asked. He was staring at Peter with a peculiar look in his eye, a hint of something that Peter couldn’t quite make out.

Peter gave a small nod in confirmation, but said nothing.

“And… and what have you been doing in that time? Where… where have you been?”

This question, Peter did not answer, and the room fell into silence once more.

Peter’s silence spoke more volumes than perhaps his words could ever have, and though Bucky still wanted to know the answers to his questions, he did not press any further.

Bucky glanced over at the clock.

It was getting late, and they both were tired. Exhausted, really. Mentally exhausted. The last few hours had more than wiped Bucky out, and he was certain, if the look on his face was any indication, that Peter was quite finished, as well.

It was still far too overwhelming. Bucky still couldn’t really believe that any of this was even real. But he had thought the same many times before, just a few short years before; and he had learned that the best way to handle the overwhelming flood of memories and sometimes choking nature of reality, was to simply put it on the back-burner and go to sleep.

Standing up, Bucky sighed. “Look, Peter… let’s… let’s just deal with this in the morning, all right? We’re both tired, so there’s no point in beating a dead horse. Not right now, anyway.”

Bucky could see the vague flicker of relief behind Peter’s frightened eyes. A thought ran across Bucky’s mind, and he frowned. “You won’t… you won’t run, right?”

Peter’s opened his mouth, taking a breath, but then stopped. His hesitation was all the proof Bucky needed.

“You can run, but you won’t get far. And I promise that I’ll come after you if you do. I won’t stop until I find you again.”

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, until Bucky finally made to move towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Peter.”

He moved past the younger man and started walking away, but something pulled at him as he went, tugging him back. He stopped and looked back.

Peter was standing exactly where he’d left him, his arms still wrapped around his middle, his blood-shot eyes staring into nothing. He looked as though he were drowning from the inside out, and Bucky’s heart twisted in his chest.

After pausing for only a moment longer, Bucky finally turned around and walked back. Peter’s eyes looked up at him for only a second, before Bucky had wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

“I know this is more Steve’s thing, but….” He let the remark hang where it was, expanding no further. He stayed hugging Peter for a few moments longer, before finally pulling away. Peter still hadn’t moved, had made no attempt to hug him back, but if his wide eyes were any indication, he clearly had not been expecting the move.

“Goodnight, Peter,” Bucky said one last time, heading towards the door. And though he wanted desperately to stay and interrogate Peter further, even though he wanted all of his questions answered right now, he knew he had to give Peter space, he knew had to let him get back his breath.

He had to let him get ready for round two. Because next time, he wasn’t going to give up.

* * *

When Bucky got back to the floor he shared with Steve, his friend was already waiting for him in the kitchen as he walked inside.

Steve gave the courtesy of at least waiting a few moments, allowing Bucky to make the first move. When he of course didn’t, Steve quickly broke the ice.

“You good, Buck?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, making his way towards his bedroom. He was done for the night. He was more than done. In fact, he felt more exhausted after today than any time during their mission away.

He heard the bar-stool screech against the ground as Steve stood to his feet and began trailing after him.

“Are you sure? You seemed to be pretty upset, before. If you want, we can go talk to Doctor Cho, make sure everything’s still going all right, and –.”

“I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky cut off. Though he had to admit, his head was hurting like a bitch. Though he had a feeling it had less to do with someone having messed around in his mind again, and more to do with accepting the fact that Peter, their newest member to the Avengers, who had been with them through Thanos and numerous missions, who had been apart of their fight in Germany – however much he had never really _been_ a part of it – had been erased from their memories, had been completely forgotten by every single one of them.

It was absolutely insane.

Steve paused at the door as Bucky went inside the room. He watched silently as Bucky began preparing for bed, then asked, “Did you… did you go talk to Peter? Was he all right? He seemed to run off that field pretty fast. But I guess… I guess he’s pretty fast anyway, right?”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood, as well as to bring up the subject of Bucky having lost in a race to a random homeless kid.

Except he wasn’t just a random homeless kid. He had never been a random homeless kid. He was Peter Parker, Stark’s little protege. He was _Spider-Man_. So of course he could give him a run for his money in a race, of course he was stronger than either one of them.

“Buck?”

Bucky looked up, meeting Steve’s concerned, if not slightly curious, eyes.

Part of him screamed that he should tell him, that he should tell him everything. He knew what it was like to be left in the dark, he knew what it was like to not know a thing of what was going on, while everyone else around you had the wisdom and knowledge of Solomon.

He should tell them. He should tell all of them. He should tell all of them how they had been attacked without their knowing it; how one of their own had been taken out from underneath their noses, without any of them ever realising he was gone.

He should tell them.

He should tell them.

… except that Peter had begged him not to. Except that Peter, his eyes filled with a fear and panic that Bucky didn’t think he’d ever seen in them before, had pleaded that he kept this to himself. Had insisted that if he didn’t, this Seftis guy – whoever the hell he was – would come back, and kill them all. He seemed convinced of it – and he was terrified.

Bucky stared at Steve a moment longer, before turning away. “The kid didn’t want to talk,” he said.

He would give Peter one more night. But tomorrow, if he didn’t get the answers he wanted, he would go straight to Steve. Hell, he would go straight to _Stark_.

Steve watched as Bucky began to take his shirt off. Bucky knew his friend wanted to ask more, but Steve was nothing if not astute – and he had clearly gotten the message that just like Peter, Bucky didn’t want to talk anymore, either.

“All right then,” Steve said after a moment, stepping back. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, sitting down onto his bed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a brief smile, Steve left, closing the door behind him.

Bucky stared at the door for a few minutes, not moving a single muscle, before he finally got under the covers and laid down. He quietly told FRIDAY to turn the lights off, and in the next second he was shrouded in darkness.

But Bucky knew he wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

Peter had stayed standing where he was when Bucky had left, barely moving a muscle as he focused only on his breathing. In, and out. In, and out.

In, and out.

Eventually he managed to stumble forward to the door, locking it once he’d reached it. He leaned against it and slowly slid to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around his middle once more.

He wanted to go home. Never before had he felt so strongly the need to go home, go home, _go home._ He wanted to be surrounded by his four walls again, the low ceiling only a few feet above him, the window closed shut as rain fell quietly against it, no one in the world knowing where he was or who he was. He was entirely alone, and entirely safe.

Except now the attic was gone; burnt and destroyed. He would never be safe within its walls again.

And now he was no longer alone. Now someone had remembered; now someone knew where he was and _who_ he was; and they weren’t planning on letting him go. They wouldn’t let him leave without a fight.

There was no use in even thinking about running, no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how badly his legs ached with the desperate need to get away, get away, _get away._ Because Bucky was right – he would come after him, he would follow him to the ends of the earth if he had to. He wouldn’t let Peter go again, not this time.

Not to mention Steve would come after him, too. And even Tony – if only to redeem himself from the humiliation of Peter’s last two escapes.

Surely Seftis would be watching, now. Surely he would be seeing how badly Peter had messed up; surely he would be planning for his attack, fine-tuning the last threads needed to weave a perfect, simultaneous attack on all of them, killing them instantly and without recourse. Surely it was only just a matter of time.

Peter closed his eyes again and wished, not for the first time and likely not the last, that he would finally wake up and find this was all just a terrible dream.

-

When Peter next woke, he found himself still laying on the floor in front of the door, his neck crooked where the wall met the floor. He slowly sat up, digging his fingers into the muscles in his neck, vaguely thinking how bad an idea it had been to fall asleep like he had.

But then the memories of the day before came rushing back, and the state of his neck no longer mattered.

Looking up at the clock, Peter saw that it was six-thirty in the morning. Glancing outside the window, he could just make out the barest hints of dawn beginning to touch the sky.

He stayed where he was for a few minutes, thinking neither a thought nor saying a word.

Finally, Peter stood to his feet.

Well, if he couldn’t run away this time, then he would do the next best thing.

Grabbing his jacket out of the closet, Peter made his way back to the door, opened it, and left.

* * *

The ground crunched beneath his feet, his breath misting in the air before him with every breath he took.

The sun had broken over the horizon by now, and was glistening brightly against the ice and frost that had covered the ground over the night. The trees were laden and draped with hoarfrost, the world around him lustrous and twinkling with the light pinks and blues of the early morning sun. The early birds of winter sang crisp and bright, their voices echoing through the cold air.

He didn’t know how long he walked, only that he was forced to come to a stop once he’d reached a large ravine. He could use his webs to cross to the other side with ease, but Peter felt that he had come far enough. Without much thinking, he climbed up a tree and searched for a place to sit. He squirmed and moved for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable place to stay.

It soon became apparent, however, that there was no perfect spot. So, after a brief moment’s thought, Peter stuck out his arm, pressed his fingers against his wrist, and began to weave a web. He soon found himself laying down, his hands behind his head. He didn’t know why he had never thought of this sooner, this was perhaps the comfiest he had ever been. He may as well have been laying on air.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the running water of a creek somewhere down in the ravine.

He tried not to think about what had happened. He tried to act as though nothing had changed, as though nothing were wrong. He tried to fall asleep, to drowse the morning away.

But his mind wouldn’t let him. No matter how much he tried to ignore the pestering thoughts, no matter how much he tried to think of something other than Bucky and memories, of Seftis returning, inevitably his mind would return back to all of them; and the fear and anger that he had been trying to suppress would start to rise once more.

How could this have happened? He had thought… he had thought for so long – he had _believed_ for so long that no one could remember, that he’d be forever alone in this world; so how… how could this possibly be?

He had no answers, of course, and so for the next hour he simply lay there, in the web that he had made – in this _mess_ that he had made – doing his best to forget, if only for a little while, all that had happened.

He hadn’t realised his eyes had closed until he suddenly heard the sounds of boots crunching against the frost and icy ground a couple miles away. His eyes snapped open and he stayed completely still, listening to the footfalls and determining whose they were.

They were Bucky’s, of course. If he couldn’t tell by his gait, he could certainly tell by the shifting of metal on metal as his prosthetic arm moved with each step.

Peter stared through the trees into the blue sky beyond, and waited.

After nearly ten minutes had passed, Bucky finally arrived. Peter didn’t say anything, waiting for Bucky to be the first to speak.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, he did.

“Peter,” Bucky began.

“Bucky,” Peter replied.

There was another pause, and then Bucky asked, “What’s this?” Peter could feel the tremors of the web as Bucky’s fingers moved across it. “I thought… do you still have your web-shooters? Did you make more?”

His web-shooters. How he had missed them, in the beginning. Being able to fly through the air, to stand from the highest heights and never having to worry about falling, because he could always catch himself long before he met the ground.

He’d never been exactly sure why he had ever made them in the first place; after the bite and development of all his abilities, he’d just always felt that something was… missing. That he wasn’t quite complete without this last accessory, this last part – that being able to shoot webs and swing through the air was just a natural part of who he was. But for the longest time, he had always thought that to be a part of himself that he had made.

The development of his natural webs made him wonder if maybe he had been wrong; if maybe his desire to swing and fly through the air was bred from a natural desire, from an ability not yet manifested, but whose urges and instinct still lay humming beneath his skin.

Or it could have arisen from the incident with the Goblin in the laboratory, just like how his apparent ability to somehow use fire – or for fire to randomly burst from his hands – had appeared. Perhaps all of this was just an experiment gone wrong. He didn’t know, and at the moment he didn’t care.

“Peter?”

Peter blinked, remembering that Bucky had asked him a question.

Peter waited a moment longer, still staring through the trees as he took a breath, before answering. He could see no point in lying, so for once, he was completely honest: “No,” he said. “I lost my web-shooters after… After.” He swallowed, and breathed.

“Then how are you doing this? Did you create a different serum, did you –.”

Reaching out his arm, Peter placed his fingers against his wrist and pressed, sending a web shooting into the air and through the trees, until it snagged along the branches. Peter let his wrist go, and the web fell away.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was staring at the web with brows slightly raised, before he turned and looked at Peter’s bare wrist. He frowned, then met Peter’s eyes.

“They come from your wrists,” he said quietly. “I thought… I thought your webs weren’t biological, I thought you could only climb walls and had enhanced senses.”

“I did,” Peter agreed. “Until a while ago, anyway. Then I found out that I could… that I could actually shoot them from my wrists.” He began picking at the webbing, thrumming the strings against his thumb. “They’re fairly similar to my mechanical ones, but stronger, somehow. More flexible.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, then said, “That’s… that’s pretty neat.” His voice betrayed his awe.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I can use them, anyway, so it really doesn’t matter.”

Peter went back to staring through the trees. He could hear Bucky sigh.

“Peter, look… I know you think that it’s dangerous, but I think you really need to tell Steve. Hell, you can even tell Stark, if you want. The guy always treated you like a son, and –.”

“Ha,” Peter laughed humourlessly. “Yeah, like Mister Stark would even hear you out. The guy hates my guts. To him, I’m just a street rat; I’m an annoying pebble in his shoe that he just can’t seem to get rid of. If you told him, he’d just call you a liar and ask Bruce to have your head examined.”

“Then we’ll tell Steve. Steve will listen, I can tell he already suspects –.”

“No,” Peter cut off. “I told you, I’m not telling anyone. No one is supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. “Why, because this Seftis guy will come after us? Because he’s going to kill us? Well let me tell you something kid – you keep going on and on about how this guy will kill everyone if they find out about you, if they find out who you are or what he did to you – to us.

“But for all your gripin’ and groanin’ about it, for all your prophecies of doom and end of the world, he sure as hell hasn’t done anything yet. I mean, you’ve been with us for what – over a week now? You’ve talked to us, hung out with us, and now I remember everything – and nothing has happened!”

Peter met Bucky’s eye with a dark glare, but Bucky didn’t so much as blink, and carried on: “And yet you insist on goin’ on and on about this guy comin’ back, like he’s the fourth horseman of the apocalypse or somethin’. You’ve done everythin’ you’re not supposed to, according to you, and this guy still hasn’t shown up. So you can forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical that there’s really any danger.”

Somewhere within him, Peter knew what Bucky was saying was true. In the back of his mind there had always been a whisper, an inkling as time went on and he spent more and more time with the Avengers, that maybe Seftis had been wrong, that maybe he had exaggerated just how much in danger Peter really was.

That maybe, just maybe, Seftis had lied.

But no. No, that couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true. Seftis had shown him what would happen if everyone found out, he’d made his threat plain and clear.

_It couldn’t be true._

And besides, in the end, it had been too long, now, anyways. The past was in the past. What use was there in telling people who he was, if they couldn’t remember him? Even if they did, life would never go back to the way it was, things would never be the same. He was just about eighteen, now. He was an adult. He could never go back to the way things were Before.

And in the end, these were all games of what-if, anyways. And the memories of Tony and Clint and everyone dying in front of him were still too vivid, still too-ingrained within his eyes, for him to ever let go of Seftis’ threat.

Knowing Bucky was waiting for an answer, Peter finally replied, “He could still come back. You could be right, there might… there might not really be any danger. But still, there might be. And I’m not risking anyone’s life for a what-if.”

“Peter…” Bucky began, and he let out a sigh. “I know what it’s like to be controlled by fear. I’d say I know that better than anyone here, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. If you let this guy control you like this, if you let your fear of his threats take over everything you do, then you’ll be just like I was – nothing more than a brainwashed, mind-controlled, mindless _sheep_ –.”

“I don’t care!” Peter suddenly shouted. He was sitting up now, glaring at Bucky from above. “I don’t care if I’m letting fear control me! I don’t care if I –.”

“Well you should!” Bucky shouted back. “The truth is more important than some lie this son-of-a-bitch is tellin’ you, Peter! Why should we all suffer because you don’t have the damn back-bone to tell us the truth, and –.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ turn this around on me!” Peter swore. He was seething, an anger running through his veins that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before, lighting his tongue like fire. “What the hell do you think it matters anyways, whether or not anyone remembers me? I’ll tell you what – it matters nothing! _Nothing!_ It doesn’t hurt any one of you to not know who I am, so no – _no_ , don’t you fucking dare tell anyone! Don’t you fucking dare tell Tony, or Bruce, or Steve that –.”

“Tell Steve what?”

Peter and Bucky’s heads both snapped up and turned round at the sound of the new voice. Their eyes landed on Steve, who was standing a few feet away through the trees, staring between both of them with cautious curiosity.

Peter blinked, his eyes wide as he stared at Steve in disbelief. In his arguing with Bucky, he’d failed to hear Steve coming. And from the way Bucky was looking at his friend, he hadn’t noticed, either.

Steve’s eyes trailed from Peter’s face, down to below him. His brows furrowed together as he asked, “Peter, what are you sitting on?”

It was then that Peter realised he was still sitting on his webbing, and with a jolt he suddenly jumped off, ripping the webbing down from the trees, the strings quickly disintegrating to the ground. “It’s nothing,” he said, turning back round. “I – I found it here, and I –.”

“How did you find us?” Buck interrupted, momentarily saving Peter from his stumbling explanation.

Steve stared at Peter a moment longer, before turning his eyes back to Bucky. “FRIDAY told me you’d both gone in this direction. I figured you guys were out here talking, so I thought I’d join you. I figured I’d follow your footsteps, but it turns out I just had to listen for your voices.” He glanced between the two again, eyeing them tentatively. “Is everything all right here?”

Both men answered at once, their voices running over the other.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Peter and Bucky’s heads snapped to the other, their eyes narrowed in glares. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Bucky finally spoke. “He has to know, Peter. It’s the only way we can fix any of this.”

Peter could see the way Bucky moved as he turned back towards Steve; he could see the determination in his movements and in his eyes, and suddenly Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest, as he realised what Bucky was about to do.

“Steve,” Bucky said, “we need to talk. Peter is –.”

Bucky was suddenly cut off, as Peter tackled him from the side and into the ground.

“Don’t you dare!” Peter shouted, struggling as Bucky fought to push him off. “You have no right, don’t you _dare_ –.”

“Peter!”

Peter felt someone grab the back of his jacket and suddenly he was being wrenched off of Bucky, and pulled away. He stumbled as he regained his footing, still glaring at Bucky all the way.

Bucky took a deep breath as he stood back up, glaring back at Peter as Steve pushed the latter behind him. Then, turning to Steve, he spoke again. “You didn’t just meet Peter a couple weeks ago,” he started.

Peter struggled harder, trying to pull away from Steve’s iron grip. “Don’t!” he shouted. His heart was beating so fast and so loud, it felt as though it were going to explode.

Bucky met Peter’s eyes for a moment and he continued, looking back at Steve. “We met him three years ago. He was in Germany, he’d been recruited by Stark. He fought with us, he was one of us.”

No. No no no no, he couldn’t – this wasn’t supposed to happen, he couldn’t be doing this – _he couldn’t be doing this._ “Stop! Bucky, stop!”

“Someone called Seftis showed up two years ago. He erased all of our memories, so none of us would remember who Peter is. He’s been by himself for the last two years, while we all just sat on our asses, unaware of a single thing that had happened. He isn’t just some random kid from the street, Steve. His name is Peter Parker, he lives with his Aunt May in Queens, and he’s an Avenger.”

And there it was. Steve now knew. He knew everything.

And Peter saw red.

Somewhere along Bucky’s speech, Steve’s grip had weakened, and Peter wrenched himself out of his hold. He ran forward, charging at Bucky with a yell, his arm pulled back as his fingers curled in a fist, ready to punch the living daylights out of him, and –

Out of instinct, Bucky lifted his leg and kicked, his foot colliding with Peter’s stomach and sending him flying back through the trees.

He landed on the ground, spinning and tumbling over the snow and through the trees, until he began to slow to a stop…

…and fell down into the ravine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The past beats inside me like a second heart.” - John Manville
> 
> “Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,  
> Tears from the depths of some devine despair  
> Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,  
> In looking on the happy autumn fields,  
> And thinking of the days that are no more.” 
> 
> \- Alfred Lord Tennyson 
> 
> *** ***  
> Again, another ending that was intended to be longer/end differently, but my brain was fried by this point, and it was getting late, so I chose to end it there. Sorry guys, wasn't meant to be so terribly dramatic, haha.
> 
> Again, thank you to every single one of you for taking the time to read this fic - I am so thankful, awed, and humbled by your support.
> 
> Please, as always, feel free to leave a comment or kudo - your support means the world to me <3


	16. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I do my best to update once a week, I think it's safe to say that it will likely always be at least a week and a half. I just write too-long of chapters to be able to make it in a week - sorry guys :(
> 
> Thank you all for your absolutely amazing response (again)! I am just constantly left shaking my head in disbelief as you guys continue to give kudos and such wonderful and kind comments - thank you!! <3 <3
> 
> Please enjoy this next chapter! :)

“ _PETER!”_

Both Bucky and Steve rushed forward, heading towards the ravine where Peter had fallen.

Then suddenly, just as Steve reached its edge, something shot past him, landing on a nearby tree. Steve’s head whipped towards it, his eyes taking in the way the… the _rope_ latched against the tree’s trunk, the end frayed and stretched across the bark, almost like a… like a _web_ –

Steve had no more time to think, as suddenly a body was flying towards him and the next thing he knew he was jerking back, and watching as someone – as Peter, his eyes finally recognised – flew past him, slamming feet-first into Bucky’s chest.

There was no time to wonder at how Peter had made it back – how he had shot out of the ravine like a bullet – as both he and Bucky immediately began to fight once more; though it was clear to anyone with eyes that it was less a fight, and more a one-sided attack, as Bucky continually fell back against Peter’s endless barrage of assault.

Steve immediately started after them, as the two began moving back through the trees.

“PETER!” Steve shouted. “Peter, stop this! Why are you – there’s no reason – _stop!_ ”

His words, however, fell on deaf ears, as Peter continued to let out his anger and fury with every punch and kick he gave.

Steve saw the moment when Bucky’s willingness to take Peter’s assault ended, and suddenly he began fighting back – meeting and returning each of Peter’s attacks with his own. Soon the two were a frenzy of swinging arms and kicking legs, dodging and feinting, acting for all the world as though there were actually a battle to be fought.

It was completely ridiculous – it was absolutely _absurd._

And it was about to end.

Stepping forward into the fray, Steve began to shout once more. “Bucky, Peter, _stop this!_ What the heck are you _doing_ , you’re –.”

Steve was cut off as a piece of bark torn from a tree came flying towards him. He ducked, lowering himself to the ground just as a branch flew over his head.

What the hell – were they attacking the trees, now? What could they even be possibly fighting about in the first place? What the heck was Bucky thinking, attacking Peter as he was, barely even holding back on his punches, and –

Another crunch as someone hit a tree, another kick, and another flying piece of shrapnel.

Instinctively, Steve grabbed hold of a large piece of bark that lay on the ground and brought it up in front of his face, just as a piece of another branch crashed against it.

He lowered the makeshift-shield just in time to see Peter being kicked, sent tumbling through the snow, then reaching back up and aiming his arm towards Bucky. A rope, or – or something – shot out of his wrist like a cannon ball, flying towards Bucky before smacking him directly in the face.

Steve watched as Bucky scrambled for a few moments, struggling to get the string – the _rope_ , or whatever it was – off of his face, before giving Peter a dark glare and running towards him once again.

Steve could only stare in complete and utter bewilderment. He knew that Peter was different, that he had strength and stamina nearly equal to his own, but this… what the hell even was this? What was coming out of his wrists? How was he even _doing_ that –

Suddenly Bucky was flying towards him, landing on the ground in front of him and scrambling to regain his footing. He finally stood up, then in the next second jumped out of the way. Steve barely had time to realise that something was shooting towards him, and he immediately brought up the piece of bark once more. The rope – or whatever it was – hit the shield, and in the next second it was ripped from Steve’s hands and tossed to the side.

The fight between Bucky and Peter continued, their voices yelling at one another as they began arguing over something to do with secrets and dangerand truth, but Steve was no longer listening.

He stared at the empty space between his hands, where the piece of bark had once been. One minute it had been there, and in the next it was gone. He had been using it to protect himself, to defend himself, and it had been suddenly torn away from him – just like that, by what he could only describe as a sticky piece of rope.

Just like that.

How – where had it come from? Who had it come from? How could they have possibly ripped his shield – his _vibranium-steel_ shield – from him so fast? Looking up, Steve could see the shield was now being held by a guy in a red and blue suit, who was holding it on his arm as though it actually belonged there, which of course it absolutely did not – who the hell did he even think he was, daring to take his shield from him, and –

Steve blinked, the images of the man in the red and blue suit disappearing in front of him, replaced back with the wintery-woods and dueling figures of Bucky and Peter.

Steve stared, watching as the two men continued to fight. Thoughts were scrambled in his mind, but one held out about all the others: _What the heck was that?_

Shaking his head, Steve stood to his feet, and began stumbling towards the pair once more. This _had_ to stop.

“ _BUCKY!”_

He knew Bucky the best, obviously, and so had the greatest chance of convincing him to stop. But then, also knowing Bucky, perhaps that wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.

Finally meeting them, Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s shirt and tried to pull him away. “Bucky, stop this! What the – what the _heck_ are you two even fighting about?!”

Peter suddenly stilled, stopped what he was doing, and turned his attention to Steve, staring him straight in the eye. “You’re wrong,” he said. “You think you’re right. And that makes you dangerous.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he stepped back, stumbling over broken branches and falling onto his backside.

Peter’s face suddenly contorted back into anger, his hand still holding onto Bucky’s collar with his other one raised, ready to swing. His fist stayed where it was, however, his chest heaving in and out as his narrowed eyes stared at Steve in growing confusion.

Steve didn’t know what the hell was going on. Was he having some kind of seizure? Was this a super-serumed soldier’s version of delirium?

He could hear Bucky’s voice saying his name, swimming in the backround: “Steve? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, to tell Bucky that maybe he should go back inside for a while, maybe get Bruce to check him out – but before he could say anything, Peter suddenly jerked and started backing away.

“Okay,” he said, shaking his head at the shield in Steve’s hand. “That thing does not obey the laws of physics at _all_.” He almost sounded offended, as though Steve’s shield had personally wronged him by simply existing. His white and black eyes were stark against the red of his mask, and Steve wondered, not for the first time, just where this guy had come from.

“ _You’ve got heart, kid,” Steve said. “Where are you from?”_

_The guy in the red and blue suit faltered slightly underneath the weight of the semi, before answering, “Queens.”_

_Steve couldn’t help the small grin from pulling his lips as he started to back away. Motioning to himself, he said, “Brooklyn,” before turning round and running back to join the fight._

The scene dissolved before him and Steve suddenly lurched forward, gripping his head between his hands.

He could hear people calling his name, someone’s hand grabbing his shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. All he could see were the images of a red and blue figure shooting webs through the air, punching and dodging, catching his hands with his webs, twisting him around, the two men caught in a complicated dance as they fought to take the other one out.

It looked like it was in Germany; it looked like it had happened in the airport that the Avengers had all fought in. Except he didn’t remember there ever being a man in a red and blue spider-suit fighting, he’d never met or seen someone like that ever in his life. There had been so many other Avengers there, pretty much their entire team – but there had been no guy in a red and blue suit, there had been no new recruit of Tony’s, there had been no Spider-Man.

Steve sucked in a breath, his eyes opening as he stared in confusion at the ground.

 _Spider-Man._ Where the heck had that come from?

He needed to go see Bruce; he really needed to go see Bruce _now_. Whatever was happening, Bruce could fix it. He had to.

Shifting his leg, Steve attempted to stand up, but as soon as he made it halfway he started to fall sideways. Someone was already at his side, catching and holding him up. He looked up to see Bucky staring at him with wide eyes, fear and concern etched all across his face, silently asking what was wrong.

“I’m all right,” Steve tried to reassure as Bucky helped him to his feet. “I’m fine. I’m just a bit dizzy, that’s all. Should probably… should probably see Bruce.”

Once standing, Steve felt another flicker of light behind his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut.

No, no more. He had… he had to go see Bruce.

He had to go see Bruce.

“All right, all right take it easy,” Bucky insisted. “Take it easy, Steve. Do you want me to call someone to come get you? I have a phone, I can –.”

“No,” Steve quickly declined, shaking his head. “No, you don’t need to do that. I can… I can walk back. It’s not that bad.”

They took a few, small steps, and suddenly Peter’s voice sounded from beside him. “I’ll go ahead and get help,” he said.

He’d started to move, stepping forward into Steve’s vision, just as Steve opened his mouth to tell him to stop. “No,” he said, more forcefully than before. “You don’t have to go ahead, we’ll just walk back and then we can –.”

Steve’s voice suddenly faltered, his words disappearing from his tongue as his eyes took in the entirety of Peter in front of him. His eyes widened, and he blinked.

Peter turned back to him, his brown, messy hair fluttering in the wind as he gave the older man an incredulous look. The morning sunlight reflected off the skin-tight red and blue of his suit, the bright colours a stark contrast to the white and brown of the snow and trees around them.

“Mister Rogers, come on – you can barely stand up; I’m gonna go ahead and get someone.”

Steve could only stare, before squinting and shaking his head. “Pete – Peter, what are you wearing? What – what on earth is that –.”

Steve watched as Peter’s eyes glanced towards Bucky, before looking back at him. “Uh, what – what are you talking about? Mister Rogers? Mister Rogers!”

Steve’s legs suddenly buckled from underneath him, and if it weren’t for Bucky’s arm around his shoulder, he would have collapsed entirely to the ground.

Everything was suddenly very hot.

Peter’s eyes widened and he immediately dashed forward, grabbing hold of Steve’s other side, shoving his shoulder underneath Steve’s arm to help hold him up. “Cap – Captain,” he said quickly. Steve looked up, meeting the young man’s eyes as Peter continued to speak. “Big fan,” he said, touching his chest. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“What?” Steve asked, his eyes growing wide with incredulity. There was a beat, and then another, the sounds of the world suddenly rushing in his ears. “You’re… you can’t be, you’re… you’re just a kid. You can’t… there’s no way that Stark would have….”

Would have what? What would Stark not have done?

The pressure in his head intensified, and Steve squeezed his eyes back shut, gritting his teeth against the pain.

He didn’t see the way Peter looked at Bucky, his face filled with lines of confusion as he shook his head, listening as Bucky told him they’d have to carry him back to the compound.

He was back in Germany again. They were fighting, but this time he was fighting one person in particular – a young-sounding guy in a red and blue spandex suit, who shot webbing out of his wrists.

The scene shifted, and suddenly he was back at the compound, watching as the same man – who he now knew as Spider-Man – slowly took off his mask, the guilty face of a young teenager appearing underneath.

“ _My name is Peter,”_ the boy had said. _“Peter Parker. It’s nice… it’s nice to finally meet you all.”_

He’d been furious. He’d been mad at Tony before, for many, many things, but this – this took the cake; this was worse than anything else because he’d recruited – he’d actually gone out and _recruited_ a teenaged _boy_ –

Steve blinked.

But wait, they… they had already fought over that. He’d… he had finally accepted what had happened, had finally accepted that whether or not he liked what had happened, it didn’t matter, because it was all said and done now and Peter was a part of them, whether he liked it or not; they couldn’t just kick him back out to the curb. And then after Thanos they found out Tony had made him an official Avenger, which in the ensuing events turned out to be more deserved than they could have ever known, and –

And….

And….

“Mister Rogers?”

Steve looked up, his eyes meeting Peter’s once more.

Peter’s eyes. The kid from Queens. The homeless kid who’d saved Clint Barton in New York.

The kid who’d fought them in Germany.

The kid who was living on the streets.

The kid who was supposed to be living with his aunt.

The kid that ran away from them, twice.

The kid who was Tony Stark’s protege and practically his son.

The kid that had run away from his aunt and her boyfriend, who had been living on the streets for four years.

The kid who had fought against Thanos, who had become an Avenger. The kid who he hadn’t seen for two years.

The kid. Their kid. Peter Parker.

_Spider-Man._

Peter was looking at him with wary concern, an attempt at a reassuring smile on his lips as he spoke. “Hey, how you hangin’ in there, Captain? We’re almost back at the compound, just one more mile left.”

Looking round, Steve suddenly realised that he was moving, being carried along by Bucky and Peter. They were no longer by the ravine, but now on the trail back towards the Avenger’s compound.

Looking back up at Peter, Steve suddenly began to move. He pushed his way out of Bucky’s hold, ignoring his friend’s protests, focusing all his attention on the young man in front of him.

“Peter,” he said, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders.

Peter looked between his eyes, his own eyes wide with confusion as he grabbed Steve’s arms to keep him up. “What?” he asked. “What is it? What’s – what’s wrong?”

Peter – his homeless teenager that he had been determined to save – had never truly been homeless at all. At least, not like he’d thought.

So this was what Bucky had been trying to tell him. This is what had been nagging in the back of his mind ever since he’d started to get to know the boy; this was what the feeling in his gut had been telling him whenever Peter had wanted to leave.

Steve’s hands moved over Peter’s shoulders, trailing up his neck and resting on the sides of his face.

This was Peter Parker, their teammate, an Avenger, _Spider-Man_. He had known him since Germany.

God, how could he have ever forgotten?

“Mister Rogers?” Peter said again, his voice now laced with worry, and not a little bit of fear. “Mister Rogers, I think you should sit down, you’re not feeling we –.”

Without warning, Steve suddenly pulled Peter into a bone-crushing hug. The boy’s voice was cut off as his face was shoved into Steve’s shoulder, and for a moment there was nothing but silence.

After a few breaths Steve pulled back, before turning around and looking at Bucky.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice both hard and unsure. He felt like a fish that had been living on land, and had just been thrown back into the sea. He was struggling to get his bearings. He turned back to Peter. “What’s been going on?”

Both Bucky and Peter were looking at him as though he’d lost his mind.

“Steve, I think you should let us take you back to the compound,” Bucky said, gently grabbing hold of Steve’s arm.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, trying to pull away from Steve’s grasp, which remained tight around his shoulders. “You should probably see Doctor Banner, or Doctor Cho. They can figure out what’s wrong with you, and –.”

“No,” Steve suddenly said, turning back to Peter. His eyes were hard and his jaw was clenched. “No, you don’t understand.” His grip on Peter tightened as he looked the younger man in the eyes. “I know who you are, Peter. I remember. I remember everything. What I want to know is – how did I ever forget in the first place?”

Peter’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, and the hint of fear they had held now filled them entirely. He opened his mouth, looking as though he were about to say something, as though he were about to respond, but after a few moments it shut back closed, and Peter said nothing.

Peter wanted to fight. He wanted to argue, to instinctively refute Steve’s statement, to tell Steve that he was wrong, but….

But he knew, somewhere inside, that it was utterly pointless.

He watched as Steve pulled away, the older man still staring at him with growing confusion and incredulity, as one set of questions left, only to be replaced by a dozen more.

A helpless frustration started churning within him, as the denial and fear and anger that Peter had felt with Bucky grew tenfold, the same questions he had been asking for the past twenty-four hours screaming at him yet again: _H_ _ow had Steve found out? How had he_ _figured out who he was? How could he have possibly remembered?_

“Peter?” Steve said again, the question in his voice not needing to be asked.

But he couldn’t, he – he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t supposed to tell them, he wasn’t supposed to tell any of them, but now… but now….

When Peter didn’t respond, Steve turned back round to Bucky. “Buck?” he said questioningly.

Bucky breathed quietly for a moment, looking between Peter and Steve, before finally resting on the latter. “It turns out we were all screwed over when we weren’t looking,” he said, his voice quiet but strong. “And Peter here go the short end of the stick.”

Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion, and Bucky motioned towards the direction of the compound. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside. We both need our questions answered, and I need a drink.”

* * *

It still hadn’t hit him, that Steve remembered him. It still hadn’t hit him that Bucky remembered him. He was still running on the last vestiges of fear, anger, and denial, and though he was beyond exhausted from it all, he wasn’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

They walked the rest of the way to the compound in silence, their feet and breaths the only sounds as they made their way through the snow. Steve wouldn’t stop staring at him, his eyes practically boring a hole into the back of Peter’s head, but Peter ignored him. He had to. Because if he didn’t, if they started talking about all that had happened, Peter didn’t think he’d be able to hold back the stinging heat in his eyes any longer. And breaking down into a fit wasn’t exactly something he was planning on doing any time soon.

But all the while, a voice continued to whisper in the back of his mind: _Steve remembered. Steve remembered._

They entered the compound, making their way toward the elevator and eventually to Steve and Bucky’s floor. They remained as they were in silence, neither one saying a word until they finally crossed the threshold of Steve and Bucky’s apartments, the door shutting quietly behind them.

Peter immediately made his way towards the table and sat down, only now realising just how weak his legs suddenly were.

Bucky immediately made his way towards the fridge, opening the door and pulling out a bottle of whiskey, while at the same time turning on the coffee pot. Steve stayed where he was, simply staring at Peter. After a few moments he finally stepped forward, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a thud.

“Well?” he asked after a minute. “Do either of you care to explain to me what’s the heck’s going on?” His bemused eyes met Peter’s. “Peter?”

“I wouldn’t bother, Steve,” Bucky said loudly from the kitchen as he began pouring the alcohol into a glass. “Kid’s like a sealed vault. Won’t say nothin’ about anything.”

Peter leveled a hard glare at Bucky from where he sat. “I told you what happened,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, sure you did,” Bucky replied, turning round as he swirled the drink in the glass. “So tell me, why exactly did this Seftis guy decide to take our memories, again? But not all our memories, just our memories of _you_.”

Peter’s glare darkened, but he said nothing.

Steve looked between the two, confusion – well, more confusion – growing on his face. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Who… who’s Seftis? Is he the one that took our… that took our –.”

“Memories of Peter?” Bucky interrupted, taking a swig from his glass. “Yep. I guess he just decided one day that we didn’t need them, so – poof! Gone.”

Steve watched in silence for a moment as Bucky went back to his drink, before turning back to Peter. “But… why?” he asked. “Why would he do that?”

Peter struggled to find the words to say. Part of him, a big part, still believed that telling them anything would only result in suffering and death. But another part of him – a smaller, but ever-growing part – whispered that maybe Bucky was right, that maybe – just maybe – Seftis’ threat wasn’t as real as he’d thought.

Bucky joined in. “That’s a very good question.”

Peter opened his mouth, his words stuttering off his tongue as he repeated what he’d already told Bucky. “I… I, that is – S-Seftis, he… he just, he just showed up one day, and he – he started attacking the city, and Mister Stark and I, we –.” Peter swallowed, then licked his lips. “When I woke up, I was alone – and everyone… everyone had forgotten who I was, and… and….”

Peter trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence.

“Okay,” Steve eventually said, leaning forward. He rested his elbows against his knees as he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers running through his hair before he lifted his face back up. “All right, so you’re… you’re telling me, that – that some guy called _Seftis_ , that he – he just… what, showed up one day and took our memories? That he took our memories of you? Just – just out of nowhere? With no explanation?”

His frown deepened as he shook his head. “But why? Why you? I mean, did he even fight us? Were we there when he took our memories? What the heck happened?”

Peter’s words stumbled in his mouth, as he tried to figure out what to say. How much of an explanation could he possibly give, anyways? How could he possibly explain that he hadn’t a clue why Seftis had chosen him, that he hadn’t bothered to stop and ask him, because at the time all that mattered was keeping them and everyone else he knew, safe?

There was yet another long silence, until Steve finally realised that Peter wasn’t going to give an answer. His frown settled into clenched teeth and a hard stare, and Peter could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “So none of us could remember you, then? You just – you just disappeared from our lives, just like that? Just… just gone?”

“Well obviously he didn’t disappear,” Bucky said; he wasn’t giving Peter time to speak, even if he wanted to. “He’s still here. We just didn’t have a fucking clue where he was, or who he was. And if you can’t remember someone even existed, how the hell are you supposed to know that they’re gone?” He glared into his coffee, before taking another drink.

Peter watched Steve swallow, his brows narrowed, then ask, “How long?” He turned back to Peter. “How long has it been since… since we forgot you?”

The heat in Peter’s eyes was now growing, though he hadn’t a clue as to why. But as he stared back into Steve’s eyes, eyes that no longer saw him as a homeless kid from the streets, but as someone he’d known for three years, as someone who was a student, a teammate, a friend, he… he just couldn’t help but feel –

“Two years,” Bucky answered, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He threw a splash of whiskey in it before taking another drink. “Kid’s been gone for two years, and none of us even so much as blinked.”

“Two years,” Steve repeated, his voice nearly a whisper, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said. Turning back to Peter, Steve was now looking at him with brows furrowed and eyes wide, looking at Peter as though he no longer quite knew who he was.

Which was ironic, really, given the circumstances. But Peter couldn’t begrudge the man his share of shock and surprise. He supposed, had he been in his shoes, he’d be as equally stunned, too.

A rush of panic suddenly swept over him, and Peter sucked in a breath as he desperately tried to calm his now-racing heart as reality suddenly crashed into him.

God, Steve _knew_. Steve and Bucky both _knew_. They both remembered who he was, they both knew he was still here, they both knew he was alive, that he _existed_ , and –

A lump had formed out of nowhere in his throat, and Peter fought desperately to swallow it back down. The heat in his eyes had morphed into stinging, and he was quite sure that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, that if he spoke a single word, the tears that were now hiding just behind his eyes would surely fall.

“Two years,” Steve said again. “You’ve been on your own for two years.” He stared at Peter for a long moment, before he continued: “And you… where have you been, during that time? Were you at least able to go back to your aunt? Even if we forgot you, you’d surely have been fine living with her, and –.”

“I told you,” Peter finally snapped. “My aunt’s shacked up with some white-collar guy from Manhattan. You think she’d have done that if she’d still been stuck remembering she had a nephew?”

Steve blinked, realisation slowly dawning on his face. He swallowed, his jaw growing tight. “Have you really been on the streets, all this time then? Living… living in that attic, by yourself, and –.”

The look on Peter’s face must have been answer enough, as Steve suddenly closed his eyes and leaned forward, dropping his head once more into his hands, his voice shaking as he spoke. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Welcome to the club,” Bucky said, walking over to Steve and placing his cup of whiskey and coffee in front of him. “Seems to be the most common reaction when you realise just how deep of shit you’re really in.”

At this, Peter’s brows flickered together, and he looked up at Bucky in confusion, and the question jumped off his tongue before he even knew he was thinking it: “Why?”

Both Steve and Bucky looked over to him, their own brows furrowed in bemusement as they stared.

There was a pause, and then Bucky asked, “what do you mean, ‘why’? Why do we feel sick? Because let me tell you something kid, having someone messing around in your mind isn’t exactly a walk in the park –.”

“No,” Peter interrupted, looking between the two men. “No, I mean… I mean, why does it matter? It’s been two years now, so why does… why does it matter how long it’s been? It’s all over now, it’s – it’s in the past.” He looked over at Steve, who was looking at him with an expression that he couldn’t quite read. He continued, “I’ve moved on. What’s done is done. I’ve made a new life for myself, so why does it –.”

“Living on the streets is considered a new life, now?” Steve interrupted, raising his eyebrows. He scoffed. “I’m sorry, son, but that’s a load of bullshit. I know who you are, Peter; you had the gall to fight against me in Germany, you and I both fought against Thanos together, we went on missions together. And someone decided that those memories – that my knowing who you are – were better left forgotten. So excuse me if I’m more than a little pissed off.”

Something inside Peter snapped, and his tongue lashed out faster than he could think. “But what does it matter?! What does it matter if you remember me or not? It won’t change the last two years; it won’t change the future. I’m eighteen, now – I’m an adult. It’s not like I can go back to high-school, it’s not like I can ever hang out with my friends again, it’s not like I can go home to Aunt Ma –.”

The name of his aunt cut his words short, and Peter’s mouth snapped shut, a sudden anger flaring inside him that he hadn’t expected.

Taking a deep breath, Peter leaned back in his chair, doing everything he could to get himself back under control.

The room was silent, neither man saying a word; Steve and Bucky were staring at Peter, as Peter determinedly stared at anything but them.

Finally, after a long minute, Steve spoke: “It matters, Peter. Whether you believe it or not, having all your friends and family forget you, _matters_.”

Peter shook his head as he bit his lip, his vision now swimming with unshed tears as he glared at Steve. “No, Mister Rogers – it doesn’t. Besides, even if you did tell everyone else who I was, it’s not like they would remember. They would just call you crazy, and that’s it.”

“Bucky remembered,” Steve refuted. “I remembered. Who’s to say that no one else will?”

For this, Peter had no answer, as this was the exact question he had been wondering for the past twenty-four hours. How _had_ Bucky remembered? How had Steve now regained his memories, as well? He hadn’t told them, he hadn’t spoken a word or even given a hint as to who he was, as to who he had once been. He had never once tried to get either of them to remember, he had kept his end of the deal, so why had – so how had they possibly –

“You need to tell us everything,” Steve said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. “From the beginning until now. We need to know who this Seftis guy is, and what he wants. That’s the only way we can defeat him, and get everyone’s memories back. So tell us everything you know.”

Something in Peter shifted at Steve’s words – no, at Steve’s _command_ – and he frowned, his fingers twitching against his legs.

Who the fuck was Steve to tell him what to do? Peter had been on his own now for two years; he had done all the best he could to live as well as he was able, to follow Seftis’ rules, to live under his threat, all for the sake of keeping the lives of his friends and family safe. He had kept his mouth shut when it had mattered most. And now Steve wanted to come in here, like the _Captain_ _of_ _America_ he was, and demand he just spill all his secrets, here and now?

No – _hell_ no. Avenger or not, the great _Captain America_ or not – he wasn’t going to tell him what to do. None of this affected him; Seftis was Peter’s problem, and Peter’s problem only.

Except he wasn’t a problem, he was the past. He was in the goddamn _past_ , along with everyone else that had once been in Peter’s life. Peter had obeyed his rules, he had accepted that his friends and family were gone forever, so he wasn’t about to go off on some ridiculous quest to try and bring their memories back when in the end it didn’t _matter_. He had left that part of himself behind, he had left that part of himself behind for good – and he wasn’t about to try and get it back.

“Peter?”

Steve was looking up at him, his brows furrowed together in concern, his eyes betraying his surprise, and it was then that Peter realised he was now standing; that at some point in the last few minutes he’d stood to his feet and pressed his fists against the table, his eyes glaring holes into Steve with a fury that took even himself off guard.

Blinking, Peter fell back, taking a breath as he tried to calm down his suddenly racing heart.

There was only one way to get their focus off of him, and that was to put it back to where it was actually important.

After a few more moments, he spoke. “Right now there’s only one thing that matters. And that’s getting Norman Osborn as far away from Stark Industries as you can.”

Steve frowned. “What are you talking about? What does Norman Osborn have to do with Star Indus –.”

Steve stopped, suddenly remembering the whole reason Peter had ended up back in the compound in the first place. After a few, long moments, Steve brought his hand to his face and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Minutes passed in silence, before Steve opened his eyes again.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head. Looking up at Peter, he stared at the younger man for a long moment, before finally bringing his arm down and resting it on the table. “FRIDAY,” he said, “tell Tony Stark he needs to come down to our apartment, _now_.”

“ _Yes, Captain.”_

Peter and Steve continued to stare at each other, and Peter suddenly realised that in his effort to distract Steve from prying further in to what had all happened, he had accidentally brought Tony back into the equation.

“Please,” Peter said after a moment, his voice weaker than he wished. “You don’t… you don’t need to tell him about me. He doesn’t need to know. He just needs to know that Osborn is after his company, that he’s trying to break up the Avengers – that’s all. He doesn’t need to know about me.”

“Kid,” Steve said, his dark eyes never looking away from Peter once, “that option’s not even on the table.”

“If… if you tell him, you’ll only be putting him in danger.” He was a broken record, repeating what he’d already said a thousand times, because he didn’t know what anything else he could say. His voice fell into a whisper. “You weren’t supposed remember. None of you were.”

“So you’re telling me you never tried to contact us after you were attacked, not once?”

Peter swallowed, shifting his feet as he stood his ground. “Never.”

“Then you’ve got a stronger heart than I do. If it were me waking up in that alley, I’d have and found someone as soon as I could and told them that we had just been attacked, whether they remembered it or not.”

Peter’s tongue moved quickly without even thinking, like a whip against his lips. “And if you had watched the people you care about die in front of you, you’d have kept your mouth shut, too.”

Both Steve and Bucky frowned at this, confusion returning to their eyes.

“What are you talking about, Peter?” Steve asked.

Bucky leaned forward, setting his glass to the side. “I thought you said this guy just took our memories, told you not to tell anyone, and dropped you off in an alley. So what do you talking about ‘you saw people _die?_ ’”

His heart was racing again – it had never really stopped – and Peter suddenly found the room stifling and incredibly hot.

He needed to get away from here.

Without a word, Peter pushed his chair back and walked around the table, heading towards the door.

“Peter!”

There were sounds of chairs screeching against the floor as they moved, Steve’s voice calling after him, the stunned shock it had held before now replaced with anger. “You can’t keep running away, Peter. Whether you like it or not, Bucky and I know now. We know what happened, and we know who you are. You need to get over it, and accept it. You need to tell us – tell _everyone_ – what happened. That’s the only way we can move forward and defeat this guy!”

He took a breath, the anger in his voice leaving with his sigh. “You’re an Avenger, Peter. You’re one of ours. Just let us help you, _please_.”

Peter stood in front of the door, looking back at Steve with a hard, quiet stare. After a moment he put his hand on the doorknob, the metal cold beneath his fingers.

“I’m not one of your soldiers, Steve,” he said. “And I’m not an Avenger. Not anymore.”

Turning the handle, Peter opened the door and stepped outside.

And immediately collided with Tony Stark.

“Whoa, hey – where’s the fire?”

Peter took a step back and looked up, his eyes meeting Tony’s, which were looking at him with both slight annoyance and a raised brow of questioning curiosity.

Peter steeled himself and made to move past him. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I was just leaving.”

Peter had expected Tony to let him leave – goodness knew Tony wasn’t exactly a role model when it came to staying in unwanted conversations – but instead, he felt Tony place a hand on his shoulder and push him back inside.

“Sorry kid,” he said, closing the door back shut once they were inside. “But if I have to stay for this circle of kumbaya, then you do too.”

Peter bristled, wanting to get out of Tony’s grasp, but he knew that unless he wanted to literally throw a tantrum and make everything worse than it already was, then he’d have to stay. For the moment, anyway.

“So, to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of all your company?” Tony asked, walking over and sitting down on one of the chairs, and setting his feet onto the table. He grinned. “Or should I say, to what do you owe the pleasure of mine?”

“We need to talk about Peter,” Steve said, glancing up at the younger man. There was a hard look in his eye, one that Peter had seen many times before, one that said that there was a mission to be carried out, and he was going to go through hell or high water to see it succeed.

“Mister Parker?” Tony asked, turning round in his chair to look at Peter. He turned back to Steve. “If it’s about finding him a place to live back in New York, then you should know that it will be coming out of your piggy bank. I’ve already offered my gratitude, and Mister Parker declined. People can only turn down the money you throw at them so many times before things start to get awkward.”

Steve huffed. “Tony, this isn’t about that. This is about –.”

“Oh, you’re wondering when Petey here can go home then? Well our agreement was two weeks, but if he really is so eager to go back, I supposed I can let him out of jail early, and –.”

“I accept,” Peter quickly interrupted. “Send me back to New York, please. I don’t need to be here any longer.”

Tony smiled. “Great! I’ll get Happy to send someone to take you back tonight.”

“Awesome! Thanks Mister Stark.”

“No problem kid, pleasure doing business with you. Just try not to end back up in my super-important secret Avengers facility ever again, kapeesh?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve blinked, his eyes growing wide for a moment, before quickly narrowing in a glare. “What? Peter, no – Tony, _no_ – he’s – he’s not going back to New York,” he grabbed Peter’s eye, “you’re _not_ going back to New York. That’s not what we wanted to talk to you about.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I think I just solved all our problems in two seconds. I mean, having an open dialogue and conversation is wonderful and all, but at one point someone just has to make a decision, and I am always happy to be the one to step up to the plate.”

“ _Tony_.”

The chair screeched as Steve stood to his feet, the annoyance and anger now clearly marked on his face. Not even Tony could ignore the fact that he was pissed off.

“All right, all right,” Tony acquiesced, leaning back in his chair and raising his hands in surrender. “Fine. What is it you called me down here to talk about, Mister Rogers?”

“We need to tell you something.”

“And what would that be?”

The air in the room changed, and Peter knew that in the next few moments, Steve was going to tell Tony everything. Part of Peter wanted to yell and scream, wanted to throw Steve to the ground as he had done to Bucky and force him to remain silent, force him to realise how utterly pointless telling Tony was, how dangerous it was, how wrong it was; that this was Peter’s secret and his secret only, and no one else deserved to know, no one else was _supposed_ to know, and… and….

Peter took a breath.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how Peter felt or what he thought; in the end, Steve would do whatever the hell he wanted – because he was a captain, and that’s what captains did.

But Peter didn’t need to be here when he did it.

So, doing what he did best, Peter turned round and left.

Seeing him leave, Steve quickly started to yell. “Peter, you need to stay! You need to explain what happened, you need to explain what’s going on, and –.”

“No, I don’t,” Peter replied, opening the door once more.

“Peter –.”

“I’m going to get some air.”

And Peter left.

* * *

He made his way down the stairs and to the bottom floor, making a beeline for the exit doors. Pressing his hands against the bars, he shoved them open and all but ran out into the open air.

The stars shone brightly in the dark night sky above him, the full moon hanging high overhead and casting its light across the ground and trees below. Everything was completely silent, not even the barest hint of a breeze disturbing the stillness.

Peter jogged out a few meters, before slowing to a stop and taking a big, deep breath. He brought his hands up to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, no longer knowing where to go or what to do next.

He thought he’d be happy, if someone ever remembered him. He thought he’d be elated, overjoyed, ecstatic – every single word there ever was that could possibly describe joy and happiness.

But he wasn’t.

For whatever reason, he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t ecstatic, he wasn’t overjoyed. Instead he was angry, he was upset, he was scared.

It was ridiculous. Steve and Bucky both knew, they remembered him completely, and there was no way that he could turn back the clock and make them forget again, no matter how much a part of him wanted that to happen. He needed to get over it, he needed to accept it and move on, because he couldn’t keep going in circles like he was. He couldn’t keep fighting them, he couldn’t keep trying to argue and punch his way out of what happened and into what he wished things would be. He needed to accept it.

He needed to accept it.

If only doing were so easy as needing.

Peter’s fingers twitched as the sounds of footsteps on tile met his ears, and he listened as the doors were pushed open and the person – Steve or Bucky, because of course they would follow and demand he come back to complete his torturous interrogation – stepped out onto the grass.

Anger flared like a whip once more inside him, and Peter spun round, his mouth open and ready to fight. “I told you, I’m not –.”

Peter stopped, his words falling from his tongue as his eyes landed on Tony Stark.

Again.

His brows twitched slightly, before furrowing into a glare. What the hell was Tony doing here? Why did he always think it was his mission to clean up after Steve’s messes?

“You know, you’re really starting to step on my toes, kid.”

Peter fought against the urge to roll his eyes, trying to keep his anger in check. Relief managed to fall over him as he realised that they hadn’t told him – not yet.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Peter turned back around. “If you’d just stay out of the way, maybe I wouldn’t have to step on them.”

“Touché,” Tony responded, never missing a beat. “But when you start messing around with members of my team, I feel I have a right to get onto the dance floor.”

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “Hah. Yeah, right – _you’re_ team.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right – _my_ team. Unless you’ve forgotten, I’m the one that keeps this little band of superheroes together; do you see any one else supplying their fancy uniforms?”

“Right. And tell me again, who was it that wanted to start this whole damn _Avengers Initiative_ in the first place?”

Tony’s brows twitched and the edges of his lips slightly fell for a brief moment, before he quickly pulled his smile back on. “Tell me kid, why does Rogers take such an interest in you? And now Barnes, too. What, is it something that only hundred-year-old guys find interesting? Because they sure seem to think a lot of you.” He paused. “Especially after yesterday.”

He was referencing the race; he was trying to bait Peter into talking about it, into revealing whether or not there was something special about him that he should take note of, or if it was all just some fluke or momentary lapse in brain function. Peter knew Tony more than enough to know that the older man was hoping it was somehow the latter.

Well, if that’s what Tony wanted to be told, then Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him otherwise.

Turning back round, Peter plastered a smile of his own on his face. “The race wasn’t real,” he said blithely. “That was just Mister Barnes being nice. He told me afterwards he just wanted to make me feel better. After all, I am just a homeless kid from New York. He wanted to make me feel special, before I went back home.”

Tony squinted his eyes, as though he were judging whether or not he was lying. Which of course was exactly what he was doing. Though why he thought he needed to, Peter didn’t know. He was giving him an out on a silver platter – he was giving him the perfect excuse to just turn the page in the book, and forget he’d ever come across the annoying Peter Parker and his perpetual habit of showing up where he wasn’t wanted.

Tony looked at him a moment longer, before he shook his head. “You know kid, I just can’t quite make you out. I mean, what is it that you want? Do you want us to help you? And what the hell do you have against us if we do? When life’s dealt you a bad hand, you usually try and get the good cards when you can. We’re trying to give you some good cards to play with, kid – so why the hell do you keep turning us down?I mean, we’re the Avengers, for goodness sake – it’s our job to help people –.”

“You think I give a fucking _damn_ whether you’re the Avengers or not?!” Peter suddenly shouted. To hell with whether he kept his anger in or not, he was sick and fucking tired of Tony throwing his status around as though it were actually something important. He took a step towards Tony, shaking his head. “And don’t you dare give me some complete and utter _bullshit_ about helping people. None of you – _none_ of you – care about _people_.

“You only care about the big stuff – about saving the world and the universe and all of time and fucking _space_. But the people? The skinny guy getting mugged, the woman getting raped, the elderly man getting beaten up in an alley? You don’t care about them! You all sit here in your high-and-mighty compound, making business deals and going on tours in Europe or to fucking _Asgard_ , while there are millions of people left to suffer here on their own, living on the streets, completely forgotten by everyone else, wishing more than _anything_ that someone would come and save them, but they don’t! They _never_ do!”

He was breathing heavily, his chest rapidly rising and falling as the fury slowly began to leave, replaced back with an age old anger that had never really gone away. He glared at Tony a moment longer, before shaking his head.

“So no. You can say you like to save the world, you can even back it up by actually doing it. But the little people? No. Tony Stark never cared about the little people, he never gave a damn about those he couldn’t be bothered to remember. So don’t try and say you do now.”

There was a long silence after that, and for a moment Peter wondered whether he’d actually managed to shock Tony into silence. But soon the billionaire regained his composure, and he offered a tight-lipped smile.

“Wow. That must feel good to get off your chest.” He stared at Peter a moment longer, before continuing, “Look, kid – obviously we hurt you, somehow at some point we pissed you off. Okay, I get it – that’s fair. But can you really –.”

Tony kept on talking, but Peter had stopped listening, choosing instead to turn back round and walk away. He was no longer interested in hearing what Tony had to say.

As he walked away, he suddenly heard the call of an owl sound in the distance, and he stopped, blinking. He took a look round anda sudden realisation clicked in the back of Peter’s mind, as his eyes finally took in what they were seeing.

It was night. The stars and moon hung high in the sky, and the sun was nowhere to be seen.

Except it was the afternoon. It was the _early_ afternoon. The sun should be nearing its highest point, it should be hours away from setting again. So why –

The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck rose, and his eyes widened as they began snapping left and right, searching… searching….

“Hey kid, are you even listening to me? I’m trying to impart some wisdom here, maybe help you turn your life around, but you’re –.”

“Shut up.”

There was a beat, then, “Excuse me? I’m sorry, but did you just tell me to –.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The panic in Peter’s voice must have come across, as Tony finally stopped speaking.

For the moment, anyway.

“What is it?” he asked lightly. “Do you see something boy? What’s out there? Is it a big bad wolf, or –.”

“It’s night out.”

Tony squirreled his face. “Uh, yeah, so?”

Peter looked back at Tony, fighting – and failing – against a glare. “What time is it?”

Tony scoffed. “Pssh. I’ve spent the last three days in the lab. You think I know what time it is –.”

“ _Boss,”_ FRIDAY’s voice said from Tony’s glasses. _“It is currently one-twenty-five in the afternoon. You have a number of meetings today, the first beginning in thirty minutes._ _Would you like me to set another reminder?”_

As Tony listened to FRIDAY’s words, his smile faded from his lips, his eyes slowly hardening into a frown as understanding finally hit. He took a step back and looked around, as though seeing what was around him for the first time.

“Huh,” he said after a few moments. “Well that’s odd.”

Nearly every hair on his body was now standing up as his spidey-senses kept getting louder and louder, practically screaming at him that something was wrong, something was wrong, _something was wrong_ –

For a moment, Peter wondered if the Green Goblin had found him again. He wouldn’t put it past him to come all the way to the compound to try and attack him again, to get back at him for what happened a the signing.

But something in the back of Peter’s mind whispered that this wasn’t the Green Goblin, that Norman Osborn was far away back in New York, still licking his wounds.

And besides, though Osborn could do many things, he couldn’t turn day into night.

“Is there some sort of eclipse going on that I didn’t know about?” Tony asked, still frowning as he looked towards the sky.

His senses suddenly shifted from danger to warning, and Peter instinctively started walking back towards Tony, continuing to look every which way around them, searching for that which he still didn’t know.

“It’s not an eclipse,” he said quietly.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And I suppose you just like to read up on these things for fun, right? Are you a homeless-kid by day, astronomer by night?”

Peter was only half-listening, the rush of blood in his ears slowly turning into one massive, high-pitched ring.

Tony sighed. “Well I suppose you’re probably right. The next eclipse isn’t supposed to happen for another eight months, and –.”

“Something’s coming.”

Tony’s voice finally stopped, his voice one of unbelieving incredulity as he said, “I’m sorry?”

Something was coming. It was getting closer and closer, with every passing second, with every moment, and –

“Kid, have I told you how odd you are? Look, I think it’s best if we go back inside and talk to Bruce – that’s the Hulk, if you didn’t know, also a really smart guy in his undercover life. He’d probably know what’s going on, and –.”

“Something’s coming.”

“What are you talking about?”

Something was coming.

Tony sighed. “Kid – _Peter_ – it’s Peter, right? Just come back inside with me and we’ll –.”

Something was _here_.

Like ice falling down his back, Peter was suddenly viciously cold. He watched the air a few yards away shift in front of him, a green mist bubbling and swirling around itself, until it eventually drifted away, leaving a man in its place.

Peter’s heart stopped, and the world around him went deathly still.

The man smiled, revealing yellowed and rotting teeth beneath.

“Hello Peter. My, it’s been an awful long time, hasn’t it? How have you been, these last two years?”

_Seftis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave kudos or comments! Your support means the world to me <3


	17. We Meet Again

He had always expected that if he were ever to see Seftis again, that if he were ever to return, guns blazing and fire raging in fury and vengeance – that Peter would fall to his knees in terror and fear; that he would feel the same terror and fear that he had felt at watching his friends – at watching Clint, and Bruce, and Tony – be murdered in front of his eyes. Be murdered only feet away, their blood practically falling into his hands.

He _was_ terrified, and he _was_ filled completely with fear. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest that it actually hurt, and his muscles were pulled so taut that it felt as though the merest movement would snap them apart.

But he was still standing. Somehow, he was still standing.

He wasn’t on his knees. Not yet.

“Who are you?” Tony asked loudly, breaking the silence that had settled around them. His tone was angry, betraying what Peter had long since learned to be fear.

And he was right to be afraid. Because Peter didn’t think he had ever met someone like Seftis; someone who was able to kill others so quickly, to irrevocably change your life forever, before you even had the chance to blink.

Seftis’ eyes stayed on Peter a moment longer, before drifting over to Tony. He smiled. “I’m an old friend of Peter’s,” he answered lightly, folding his hands in front of him. “We go a long ways back, him and I.”

“Peter?” Tony questioned. Peter could feel the man’s eyes on him, wondering why on earth, of all people, Seftis had mentioned him.

But Peter could barely pay any attention to Tony and what he must be thinking. It was all he could do right now to stay where he was, and not turn tail and run.

“What the hell do you want with him?” Tony spat. “He’s just a homeless kid from the city. I, however, in case you haven’t noticed, am Tony Stark – also known as _Iron Man?_ If you want someone to go after, I think you’ll find I’m the better fight.”

Even now, Tony was trying to deter Seftis’ attention from Peter to himself. He was trying to remove Peter from the cross-hairs, even though he barely knew him. It was so incredibly typical of him, to jump in the line of fire before anyone else could get hurt.

And Peter had never hated him more for it.

“Oh, don’t you worry my dear man,” Seftis replied, “you and I will be having a chat soon. Very soon. But for the moment, I would like to talk to Peter. He and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Seftis walked forward until he was standing only a few feet in front of Peter, towering over him. “You didn’t answer my question, child. How have you been these last two years? Have you been… keeping busy?” His lip twitched in a smile.

Peter said nothing. He couldn’t say anything. He was frozen – he was _terrified_. This was the man he had been trying to avoid for two years, the man he had lived every day in fear of seeing.

For a while, he had begun to wonder whether he had ever been real in the first place. Their time together had been so short, the decision he’d had to make was so fast – he sometimes wondered whether he hadn’t simply imagined it all; if he truly was Peter Parker, son of Richard and Mary, nephew of Ben and May, an enhanced human who was part of a team filled with superheroes – or whether he was actually just a homeless schizophrenic, who’d imagined such a crazy and ridiculous life as a means of having a reason to wake up every day.

“A little tongue-tied, I see. Well it’s no bother, no bother at all. People have a tendency to lose the use of their tongues when in my presence.” His smile pulled into a grin.

Peter stared into Seftis’ yellowed eyes, trying not to look away. Was he going to kill him? Was this the punishment for breaking their deal? Well if that were to be the case, then he was ready. He’d been ready for two years now. He was terrified, yes; but he was also ready. In fact, he wished Seftis had only done it a lot sooner.

As though reading his mind, Seftis tilted his head curiously and said, “You want to die, don’t you?” He stared a moment longer. “Interesting.”

Peter said nothing.

The two men stared at each other for a moment longer, before Seftis suddenly lifted his head back and smiled. “Don’t worry, my dear child. We will have plenty of time to talk, you and I. Eventually. For now, I have more pressing matters that I must take care of.” With his last words Seftis turned, and began walking away.

And headed towards Tony.

The adrenaline started rushing through Peter anew, and suddenly the dam that had held his tongue broke, and a tidal wave of words came rushing forth. “What are you doing?!”

Seftis didn’t stop, and Peter’s heart began to drop. “We – we had a deal. You said if I stayed away, if I didn’t go near them that you would – that you leave them be! You said if I left them alone, so would you! We had a _deal!_ ”

Peter watched as Tony pressed the button against his hand to trigger the suit; he watched as Tony waited for the suit to envelop him within the safety of its iron armor and unrivaled tech.

He watched as nothing happened.

Seftis came to a stop in front of Tony, who took a step back before trying to take a swing towards Seftis’ face. Just as his fist was about to make contact, however, he froze. His eyes still moved and his muscles still twitched, but otherwise he was as still as a statue.

“You’re right, we did have a deal,” Seftis said, raising his hand to brush away a fallen strand of Tony’s hair. “But you broke it.”

Peter jerked forward, panic rushing through his veins. “No, I didn’t!”

“You’re here, are you not? With the Avengers. Exactly where I told you not to be. Exactly where I thought we had agreed you would never go.”

“But I didn’t mean to! I didn’t – I stayed away from them, I stayed away from all of them! I never tried to find them, I never tried to tell them what happened – they found _me!_ ”

“And how did they find you? Because you chose to help one of theirs in need? When you chose to get involved with their affairs, when you should have known better to simply _stay away_.”

“He would have died if I hadn’t helped, that woman would have died, I couldn’t –.”

“Yes, you could have,” Seftis snapped, his head jerking towards Peter, his eyes narrowed. “You were certainly able to stay away from every other human that needed your help these last two years. Men and women being mugged and raped, beaten and attacked – you ran from them all!” His eyes raked Peter up and down, a contemptuous grin pulling at his lips. “You certainly put your life as the _Amazing Spider-Man_ well behind you, didn’t you?”

A flicker of anger sparked within him, and Peter clenched his teeth as he bit back his tongue. Not that he could really say anything in response, anyway. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t exactly defend himself from the accusation.

Because he was right. He had completely put his life from Before into the past; if he had still had his suit at the time, he would have burned it. He had done everything he could to join the rest of the Avengers in forgetting who he was, who he had once been, all in the hopes of never having to return to that life ever again.

And look how well that turned out for him.

Seftis held Peter’s gaze a moment longer, before turning back to Tony.

“But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

Peter’s eyes flickered between Seftis and Tony, trying to figure out exactly what the man was planning to do.

“So you’re going to kill him?” Peter finally asked. “Just like you said you would. You’re going to kill all of them. Well how about I do you one better – why not just kill me, instead? I’m the one that messed up, I’m the one that broke our deal – so just… just kill me. Leave them all alone, they never had anything to do with any of this in the first place. Just kill me instead, _please_.”

“You think you’re worth more than the rest of the Avengers, combined?” Seftis asked, raising an eyebrow. He held Peter’s gaze for a long moment, before a small smile pulled at his lips and he shook his head. “Don’t worry, Peter, I’m not here to kill your dear Mister _Tony Stark._ I know how close you two were, that he was practically a father to you. I would never be so cruel as to take that away from you.”

Peter glared, his fingers twitching at his sides as they clenched into fists.

“No,” Seftis continued, “I’m here for another reason entirely. You see, the man I thought had at least the wherewithal to carry out a simple order was not, in fact, as smart as I had initially believed him to be. He allowed a little spider to get in the way of doing his job, and now I’m the one left picking up the pieces. Shame. It really is difficult to find good help these days.”

It took a second, a moment for all the pieces to click together and all the parts to fall into place, but quietly, bit by bit, understanding started to form.

“The Goblin,” Peter said slowly. “Norman Osborn. That’s… that’s the man you’re working with. The man who’s working for you. You wanted him to take over Stark Industries, so he could… so he could dismantle the Avengers. Cripple them. Scatter them across the globe. Because when they’re scattered, that will be the best time for… for….”

Seftis’ lips pressed together, his face unreadable, as his fingers slowly fell from Tony’s face and back down to his side. “Osborn has been running his mouth, I see. The man always had far too much pride than was good for him.”

He looked back to Tony, who was still frozen mid-swing, but who was still very much conscious, his eyes strained and switching between Peter and Seftis as each one spoke.

Peter had suspected that Osborn was working with Seftis, he had suspected it ever since they’d spoken outside of Tony’s tower; but he had never wanted to believe it. He’d preferred to believe that the Goblin was working entirely on his own, that Seftis was the last being in the world that he would be partnering with in the attempt to get rid of Tony and the Avengers.

But clearly, no matter how much Peter tried to deny it, the truth was now staring him right in the face.

And he was no longer sure he could breathe.

He had always wondered what Seftis had wanted, what his purpose was in attacking them, in wanting to try and kill everyone he knew and loved.

Well, now it was clear. Now he could see that, for whatever deranged, psychotic reason – Seftis wanted to control Stark Industries. And by controlling Stark Industries he could then control the Avengers, and by controlling the Avengers, he could then… he could then….

He could then, what?

What could he do?

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Seftis pulled back the sleeves of his jacket – it suddenly struck Peter that the man – the creature, whatever he was – was wearing an old, black, dressed up dinner jacket, as though he were some rich socialite going to a fancy luncheon, and how absolutely mad and messed up was that, and –

“Well I suppose that in the end, if you want a job done right, you must, as the old adage goes – _do it yourself_.”

With those words Seftis stretched out his arm and, ever so delicately, placed his hand on Tony’s face.

And Peter saw red.

The fear and terror that had been bubbling underneath his skin since Seftis had arrived suddenly burst and overflowed, and in the next second Peter was suddenly screaming, his feet tearing from the ground as he began running straight towards them. _“No!”_

He collided with Seftis, tackling into his side and sending them both crashing to the ground.

They struggled. Peter fought and kicked, trying to land something – anything; trying to fight in a mad scramble of tangled limbs and panicked frenzy.

His foot finally connected with something, and Peter heard a grunt. In the next second something hit his face and sent his neck snapping backwards, smacking his head against the ground.

Before Peter even had a chance to orient himself, a hand was suddenly at his neck, fingers wrapping around his throat and squeezing tight.

He struggled, clawing at Seftis’ arms as the man shoved him further and further into the ground, but the man was like steel and would not move.

“You stupid, idiotic fool!” Seftis growled, glaring angrily into Peter’ eyes. “You dare to think you can stand against me? When you know full well that I could end the lives of each of your Avengers, of each of your family and friends, just like that, and yet you still dare to take me on? You still try to stop me?!”

Peter pulled at Seftis’ fingers, his eyes hot and stinging and chest burning as he fought for breath. Finally he managed to pull Seftis far enough away for his voice to speak.

“Then k-kill me,” he managed to utter. “Just kill me and… and get it over with.”

Seftis gripped Peter’s throat tighter and began lifting him up, raising him higher and higher until his feet hung helplessly in the air, his entire weight now held against his neck. He began gasping, choking for air as his body desperately tried to breathe.

They stayed like that, for a few, long moments – staring into each others eyes, waiting. Waiting for the other to break, for the other to stop. Waiting for death to come.

 _Just kill me,_ Peter thought. _It’s over. You won, you psychotic piece of shit. You won. So just kill me already. Kill me and get it over with._ _Kill me like you should have done from the very start._

 **He can’t kill you,** a voice suddenly said. **No matter how much he – or you – want** **him** **to,** **you cannot die by his hand.**

Peter jerked, startled. His eyes snapped around as far as he could, trying to find where this new voice was coming from, but he could see no one.

**You won’t find me out there, I’m afraid. For there is only one place in which I now reside – and that place is you.**

He was hallucinating. He had to be. It was the only answer that made any logical sense. Without oxygen, his brain was finally beginning to cease to function. Soon, he was sure, he would begin to see a white light. And perhaps, if he was lucky, he would see his parents and Uncle Ben, too.

**I’m both sorry and happy to say that you won’t be seeing neither your parents nor your uncle for a long, long time. You are so very young. You still have a long ways to go yet.**

He was dying. He was dying, by the hand of the one person he feared the most – and this was how his mind was reacting. By conjuring up a phantom voice to comfort him, to make him believe that everything was all right. Soon it would be reciting a lullaby next, singing him into an everlasting sleep.

**No, I’m afraid not. Whether you believe it or not, the truth remains that you are very much awake, and still very much alive.**

Peter chose to ignore the voice. If he was going to die, then he’d rather go out at least pretending he was half-way sane.

Except… except that he wasn’t dead yet. Seftis had been holding him in the air, cutting off his lungs for over a minute now. He hadn’t taken a breath the entire time he was up here, and yet – and yet he was still awake. He was still conscious. And where his vision should have been fading and turning to black, he was instead staring down at the man with the sharpest of clarity. By all rights, he should be dying right now. He should be swiftly on his way to death’s doorstep.

But he wasn’t. Rather, he was still alive. And with every passing second that continued, the reality only became stronger and stronger.

The realisation was a startling one, and one that Peter didn’t understand – couldn’t understand – in any way, shape, or form whatsoever.

But at the moment, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out of Seftis’ hold – and he had to get out of it _now_.

Struggling once more with renewed energy, Peter tried to kick and thrash towards Seftis’ body, but for whatever reason, his legs wouldn’t work. It were as though they were bound by some invisible bonds, pulling back at every movement he tried to make.

He felt just as he had the first time he’d met Seftis, when the man had frozen his body in place with whatever form of magic or power he had, and had forced him to watch as everyone he knew was about to be killed. He had been completely and utterly helpless.

And now it seemed he would be frozen once more, seemingly unable to die, and as equally unable to stop whatever Seftis wanted to do to him – to anyone.

As though reading his mind, Seftis smiled, the turns of his lips lining the edges beneath his pale, yellow eyes. “You’re powerless, Peter Parker. You’re powerless, _Spider-Man_. I tried to leave you out of this, really, I did. But still you came back, still you had to crawl back up the spout again. Well if a front-row seat to your friends’ death is what you want, then I’ll give you the best seat in the house.”

Seftis tilted his head back, looking over at Tony, who was still exactly as they had left him, but whose eyes were turned and watching their every move.

Seftis’ grin broadened and he turned back to Peter. “I told Osborn to simply incapacitate the man. Whether it was a coma or inoperable brain damage, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was making sure he’d never be able to run his company again. That way Osborn – or more accurately, _I_ – would gain full control over all his businesses – and _assets_.”

Peter knew this. He knew all of this already. He knew Osborn – and now Seftis – were after Tony’s company, were after control of the Avengers. So why was Seftis telling all of this now?

“But seeing as Osborn has proven a useless waste of time, I suppose I will just have to kill Tony Stark myself. And you, Spider-Man, will have the honour of witnessing _Iron Man’s_ death.”

Peter’s eyes widened and panic began to take hold, as what had been so painfully obvious – and what he’d been so painfully trying to ignore – reared its ugly head.

Seftis lifted his other hand and waved it in the air. A second later a spear appeared, as dark and as terrifying as the day Peter had first saw it.

The spear hovered high in the air in front of Tony, angled down towards him, aiming straight for the centre of his head. All it was waiting for was the order to strike.

Peter tried – he tried so, so hard to fight against Seftis’ hold, to get out of his grip, to somehow gain the upper hand, to find a way to stop him, to stop him from giving the final order, to stop him from sending the spear through Tony’s eyes and killing him again, just as he had before and he had to stop him, he had to stop him he had to, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move and – and –

**Don’t lose hope, Peter. For you have a great power burning within you. All you need to do is let is loose.**

A power. This constant, tattering-on about some ridiculous power, a power everyone else seemed to know about but of which he knew absolutely nothing. A power that was great enough to warrant the attention of an insane businessman and now crazed-goblin, a power that was so important as to make that man take and knife and cut through his chest, to the point that all he could feel was pain and heat and burning, everything was so hot and he was _burning_ and he was –

He was burning.

It lashed like a whip, the centre of his chest suddenly exploding in a fierce heat, running through his muscles and down his legs, reaching into his arms and to his fingertips, which were still held in a death-grip on Seftis’ hands.

It happened quickly. The searing heat, the growing burn in his hands, just as they had when he’d first woken after Osborn’s failed dissection, just as they had when he’d ran after Stromm to stop him from taking the signed papers, and cementing Osborn’s control over Stark Industries, just as they had when – when –

He could smell the stench of burning flesh.

Suddenly someone was screaming, and the next thing Peter knew he was falling to the ground, landing on his side in a heap.

He looked up to see Seftis stumbling back, staring at his arms in wide-eyed shock, his skin burnt in the shadow of someone’s fingers.

Of Peter’s fingers.

Seftis stared at his arms for a moment longer, before his dark eyes looked up and met Peter’s.

“So you’ve found him, then,” he said.

Peter’s chest was heaving as he fought for breath, the panic and adrenaline eating away at whatever energy he had left. He could only stare back at Seftis in confusion.

“I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Seftis righted himself, standing to his full height and looking down at Peter with pure contempt. “Don’t lie, child. You know whom I’m speaking about.”

And he did. As much as he wished he didn’t, Peter knew exactly who Seftis meant. The only problem was, Peter knew nothing more than that. If the voice in his head was real, if the voice in his head was somehow connected to his seemingly new ability to create fire from his hands, then… then he had a lot more trouble than he had ever thought he had.

“It doesn’t matter.” Seftis brushed the charred remains of his sleeves and the burnt pieces of flesh off his arms, as though he were merely cleaning away dust. “He is unimportant. You, however, are proving to be quite the annoyance.”

Stepping forward, Seftis made to reach towards Peter, his arm outstretched and a snarl on his lips.

Peter flinched back, expecting an invisible hand to fasten once more around his throat, to render his legs and arms useless as the man proceeded to do whatever he wanted to him, to kill him where he sat or make him watch as he killed everyone else, and –

There was a shout to his right, and before he even had a chance to blink, a figure was charging into his vision and crashing into Seftis’ side.

Peter blinked, as his eyes realised who it was.

Tony.

He wasn’t in his suit, he had no weapons or any defense to speak of, and yet he was currently struggling with the other man, trying to land his punches and knock him down.

Peter watched in stunned silence as the two men fought for a few moments, before Seftis finally pushed Tony back and sent him falling to the ground.

“All right Stark,” Seftis growled, stepping back. “I was willing to leave you only in a coma, to let you live, but it’s clear that no matter where you go, you will always carry a death-wish with you.”

He raised his arms above his sides, and as they moved, a dozen spears manifested in the air above and around him. The spears began spinning, faster and faster as though preparing to charge, ready to fly from their invisible bows at a moment’s notice.

Images of a spear piercing Tony’s armor and through is body flashed in front of Peter’s eyes, and before he even knew what was happening, he was suddenly on his feet and running straight towards the two men.

“Don’t worry Stark,” Seftis said, raising his fingers in front of his face. “I’ll take good care of your company, and of your little earth, too.”

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Seftis snapped his fingers, the spears flew forward towards Tony, and Peter jumped right between the two.

There was a great explosion, deafening his ears as light grew and grew until it became blinding. Peter brought up his arms in an attempt to shield himself, both from the spears and the light and the absolute cacophony of noise.

Before he knew what was happening, all the noise and commotion around him suddenly stopped. The world went completely silent, and deathly still.

* * *

For a moment, all Peter could hear was his own breath.

Then, after a few more moments, someone spoke.

“We don’t have long, I’m afraid.”

Peter opened his eyes, blinking rapidly until they finally managed to adjust to the light around him.

He was standing on a white surface, surrounded by white walls and an endlessly white sky. At first he could see no one, but when he turned round, he came face to face with someone else.

He was an old man, white hair having long since receded, now crowning the back of his head. He looked to be in his late seventies, or perhaps early eighties. But age seemed to bear little on him, his back still standing straight, his shoulders pushed back, his aged eyes looking back at Peter with a wisdom and knowing that made Peter want to take a step back.

How he knew all this by simply looking at the man, whether it was his spidey-senses or just human intuition, Peter didn’t know. But something in the back of Peter’s mind told him this man was something far more than simply that, that there was something far more important about him than the simple fact that he was old.

The man had a cane, which he tapped against the ground as he walked towards him.

“You have many questions about me, I’m sure,” he said. “But I cannot answer all of them. Know foremost of all, that I mean you no harm. My being here is an unhappy byproduct, of a very unhappy war.”

Peter stared at the man for a long moment, not knowing what to do, or what to say.

He knew this man. Somehow, someway, he knew him. In fact, if the memories that were slowly trickling into the back of his mind were true, then he’d already met this man once before.

He’d forgotten. When Osborn had kidnapped him and tied him down to the table in the glass cage to cut open his chest, there had been a moment – a small moment, in a blinding chaos of pain and noise – where he had met someone. Where he had spoken to something, to someone. A Being, that had left him with more questions than he had answers, but he hadn’t remembered any of them, because then he’d woken up, and he’d felt hotter than he’d ever felt in his life, and he’d just wanted to get out of the cage and out of the laboratory, and get out get out get out, and –

“ _You will understand.”_

You will understand. The creature, the Being, this man – he had said he’d understand. But understand what?

“My name is Ascar. You do not know me, nor my kind. We don’t often delve into the affairs of Earth or its peoples, but I was left with no choice. Or at least, I was forced to make a choice I would not have otherwise made. And I’m afraid, my dear boy, that you had to bear the weight of that decision.”

Finally, his tongue came unglued and he managed to speak.

“What are you… what are you talking about? What choice did you have to make?”

“To either die, and let my soul – my essence, my power – be stolen by another, or to allow my body to fall, while my soul lived on in the body of another.”

The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck prickled and a cold shiver ran down his spine, as pieces began putting themselves together, forming into a picture, a picture that he did not want to make.

The man – Ascar’s – eyes softened, and he looked at Peter with something akin to regret. “You were the only vessel strong enough to carry me. I’m sorry. That is why Seftis came after you, because you had me. Because he wanted to finish me off for good.”

Peter could barely comprehend what he was hearing. None of what the man said made any sense. It couldn’t make any sense. How could someone essentially telling him that he had another soul in his body aside from his own, make any sense?!

And he said as much. “What… how…. I don’t – I don’t understand, how are – what are – who are you, how – how can you be in my body, how can – how am I even seeing you, how –.”

The man’s lips pressed thinly together, and he shook his head. “The _how_ is unimportant right now. Right now, you simply need to know that it _is_.”

The walls around them began to shake, and Peter could swear he heard someone saying his name.

The two remained where they were, standing across from each other, as Peter desperately tried to understand the pieces of the puzzle that he was slowly putting together.

“So let me get this straight. You… you were fighting Seftis. And you said – you said he tried to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“And so instead of letting him kill you, you put… you put your – your _soul_ into… into me.”

“As I said before, you were the only one strong enough to hold me.”

Peter squirreled his eyes. “But that’s… that’s ridiculous. That’s crazy. You can’t – there’s no _way_ –.” Peter swallowed, and took a step back. “I’m hallucinating. That’s what this is. This is all just one, big hallucination. I’ve finally snapped. After all this time, I’ve finally lost it.”

The walls shook again, and the man’s eyes darkened. “You can ignore the truth all you want, Peter, but the truth remains the same, whether you believe it or not.”

Peter stared at the man and took a breath, and then another. The voice of someone calling his name echoed around the chamber, urgent and pressing.

“Okay,” Peter said, bringing his fingers up to the bridge of his nose and pinching it, hard. “Let’s… let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I believe this crazy, psycho dream I’m currently having is actually real. If you’re actually in my body, then… then how do I get you out? How do I get you to leave?”

The walls shook harder this time, the ground now also shaking and nearly throwing Peter off his feet.

Ascar, however, remained unmoved.

“I promise, Peter, that I will tell you everything. But at the moment, I think that getting rid of me is the last decision you would want to make.”

It felt as though he were in an earthquake, ceaseless and growing more powerful with each passing second.

Peter frowned as he tried to maintain his balance. “And why the heck would that be?”

Ascar lifted his head, and stared hard into Peter’s eyes. “I already told you, Peter – you cannot die by Seftis’ hand. That is why he did not kill you two years ago – because of me. He cannot kill me, and now by extension, he cannot kill you.”

The earthquake grew stronger and stronger, and finally Ascar looked up, as though noticing his surroundings for the first time. He quickly looked back down at Peter, his words fast and urgent. “Seftis wants power, Peter – he wants the power to conquer and lead according to how he sees fit. And he wants a throne from which he can rule an entire world.”

The noise was now deafening, as the walls and sky began to crumble around them.

“Don’t let him succeed, Peter. You must stop him. Or else you will not be the only one in the world to become completely forgotten.”

With his final words the shaking earth finally knocked Peter off his feet, and he was sent falling backwards to the ground, and into the abyss.

* * *

“Parker! Peter! Hey kid, wake up! Goddam – _gah_.”

He was shaking. Or rather, someone was shaking him.

“Parker! So help me, if you die here I will personally ship you out and make sure you never set foot in this place again, or –.”

Peter slowly opened his eyes, blinking as the rays of the afternoon sun blinded his vision. Then, someone drew over him, blocking out the light.

Peter blinked once more, then frowned.

Tony.

Tony was leaning over him, staring at him with a terrified anger that reminded Peter of the other – few – times he’d messed up and required saving, which Tony had always diligently done, and which he would constantly remind Peter was going to send him into an early grave. Or worse – give him more grey hair.

At seeing Peter’s eyes, relief immediately fell across Tony’s face and he leaned back, falling on his backside against the ground.

“Oh thank God,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes.

His head was throbbing, the pressure behind his eyes making him want to dig them out with his fingers, but aside from that, Peter felt… fine. At the very least, he didn’t feel as though he were dying. And if Tony’s relief was anything to go by, he didn’t look it, either.

But why was he out here in the first place? Why was he laying on the ground outside the compound, surrounded by snow? Had Tony been trying to show him a new invention? Had that invention gone wrong, and that’s why Tony was looking for all the world like a panicked parent who, in his enthusiasm, had been less-than careful with his kid?

“Mister Stark?” Peter asked, pushing himself against his elbows, until he was fully sitting upright. He looked over at Tony, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Mister Stark, what happened? Did you… were you doing something with your suit, or… or did I make a mistake, and mess something up? I swear, I never actually meant to try your suit on, I just wanted to see if the interior would adjust to my size, and –.”

Peter grimaced and grabbed his head, leaning forward as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight against the pain. Something was wrong about the questions he’d asked, his instincts and senses told him that, but at the moment he didn’t care. All he cared about was riding out the waves of agony that were currently crashing through his head.

He could sense Tony’s eyes on him, and looking up, Peter could see Tony looking at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, as though Peter had suddenly grown a second head.

“Mister Stark?” Peter asked again. God, he hoped the man had Advil or Tylenol. Not that they would really help. Regular drugs had stopped working on him the moment he’d been bitten.

Tony stared at him a few moments longer, before slowly getting to his feet.

“Come on kid,” he said, grabbing Peter’s arm and pulling him up, “I think we’d better go see Bruce.”

* * *

They arrived a short while later at the med-bay, Tony having already told one of the security to have Bruce meet them there as soon as he possibly could.

Tony helped lift Peter onto one of the tables, which Peter was more than grateful for. His vision was still swimming and head was still throbbing, and no matter how much he knew that he was on solid ground, he still felt as though he were in the middle of roiling waves.

They sat in silence for a long while, neither saying a word. It was odd, Peter thought somewhere in the back of his mind, that both him and Tony would be at a loss of words at the exact same moment in time, but at the moment he really couldn’t give the phenomenon much thought, as he was too busy caring about soccer ball that was currently inflating behind his eyes.

Eventually he heard footsteps in the distance, each step growing closer and closer with every passing second, until finally the door was pushed open and panting breaths reached his ears.

“Tony! Tony, they told me you were injured, are you okay? What – what happened?”

Bruce. The panicked and slightly-out-of-breath voice belonged to Bruce. His worry didn’t surprise Peter; he’d always been a man of study and research, not fighting and action. Not like Tony. Not like him.

When Tony didn’t immediately respond, Bruce’s worry seemed only to grow.

“Tony? Well now you really have me worried, are you –.”

“I don’t know, Bruce,” Tony replied carelessly. He was rubbing his eyes and moving at half the speed he normally moved, which meant that either something was physically wrong, or he hadn’t gone to bed in three days.

Peter wondered just how badly he’d screwed up.

“Tony –.”

“The kid’s the one that needs actual help right now,” Tony interrupted, motioning towards Peter. “He got – I mean, we both got – but then –.” Tony swore, then leaned his elbows against his knees, digging his fingers into his eyes. “I need a drink.”

“Tony, _what_ are you talking about?”

“You know, I wish I could tell you. At the moment though I’m currently trying to decide whether I’ve just had a – well, let’s admit it – a quite vivid hallucination, or if my brain just decided to take a walk off the deep end. I’m not sure which.”

“Aren’t those both the same thing?”

“Quiet, Banner – I need to think.”

Peter’s own head was too foggy to really take in what Tony was saying, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care. At the moment he was battling the worst headache he’d ever experienced, his entire body ached, and his chest felt as though it were on fire.

This would be a really good time to go to sleep.

And, had everything stayed as it was, he would have – except in the next moment he could hear more sounds of footsteps coming towards him, and not long after the door opened once more, and Steve and Bucky walked in.

Peter frowned. Weren’t Steve and Bucky currently on an undercover mission out in the middle of Siberia? What the heck were they doing back here so early?

Steve’s eyes landed on Peter, a look of panic in them that Peter wasn’t entirely familiar with. It was a panic that was more accustomed on Tony’s face, or Happy’s, or Aunt May’s – especially after they found out some of the things he did on his patrols. Which was why, of course, he rarely told any of them the full story – after all, what was the point in upsetting someone when the damage had already been done?

“Peter!”

Steve all but ran towards him, grabbing hold of the railing at his bedside. “Peter, what the heck happened? You leave for barely five minutes, and then we’re getting told that you and Tony are both headed towards the med-bay? What the heck happened? Did you guys actually get in a fight, or –.”

“I’d say we were gone for a bit more than just five minutes, Captain,” Tony interrupted. But he quickly backtracked. “Wait, no, I take that back. I may have just had a stroke and blacked out for five minutes, and it just felt like an hour. Just let… just let me think, I need… I just need to think.” He went back to holding his head in his hands.

Steve turned back to Peter. “Peter, what happened?”

Peter blinked, staring back at Steve in bemusement. Now that he thought the question over, he wasn’t exactly sure what the answer was. What _had_ happened? Tony still hadn’t told him whether it was his fault or Peter’s. But now, with both Steve and Bucky looking down at him with worried and confused eyes, he was no longer sure whether it was either of their fault.

“I don’t…” Peter began, “I’m not… I’m not sure….”

“You’re saying you don’t remember?” Steve filled in.

Peter shook his head. “I just – my head really hurts, Captain, and I don’t – whatever it was, it wasn’t Mister Stark’s fault. I swear, if it has something to do with one of his suits, I swear I didn’t actually mean to try one out. I was only thinking about it, and –.”

Steve blinked, staring at Peter a second longer before turning back to face Tony. “Tony, what happened?” he demanded.

Tony looked up at him incredulously. “You’re asking me? Me? Sorry Cap, but you’re squeezing water from a stone, here. I know nothing more than you do. At least… at least nothing that makes sense, anyway.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Bruce interjected. “Is anyone here needing medical attention, or are we all just gonna sit around and insist we don’t know anything? I think between us, there should be at least someone that knows _something_.”

Steve turned back to Peter. “Peter, are you honestly telling me that you don’t know anything? That you just walked outside and forgot what you were doing? Or is this all just some kind of joke you’ve decided to play? Or –.” Steve faltered, his eyes going wide before he looked back at Tony. “Wait, did… did Tony –.” He looked back at Peter, his eyes suddenly hopeful. “Did Tony remember? Did he get his memories back?”

“Did I get _what_ now?”

Steve looked back. “Your memories. Did you – did you remember who Peter is?”

Tony looked more confused now than ever, an eyebrow raised in growing incredulity. “Okay, now I really don’t know what’s going on. What the hell are you talking about? Memories? What – what does that even _mean_ –.”

He went on, questioning Steve about what he was talking about, but Peter wasn’t paying anymore attention. Their words had been enough to clear the fog that had gathered in his mind, and suddenly the events of all that had just happened began to trickle back behind his eyes. The heavy weight of the memory of what had actually happened – and what was actually going on – settled over his mind, and his throbbing headache no longer quite seemed to matter.

He suddenly felt sick.

“Memories,” Peter said out loud.

All eyes turned to him, but Peter barely paid them any attention, as the realisation of all that had happened began to take hold. He looked over at Tony, disbelieving incredulity bubbling up in his chest as he realised what he, for a moment, anyway, had actually thought had been happening.

“I thought – I thought that Tony had remembered, that – that nothing had changed, but he –.” Peter let out a manic chuckle, unable to contain his laughter at the absolute ridiculous absurdity of the entire situation. He laughed again. “I thought Tony had remembered, but I forgot! I forgot he’d forgotten! Ha!” He fell back against the pillows on his bed, suddenly unable to stop laughing.

It was so horribly ironic – here he was, having just met Seftis for a second time, and he’d gone and ended up thinking that Tony still knew who he was, but of course he didn’t, none of them did, they’d all forgotten him, and –

“Peter,” Steve said, but he was unable to break through Peter’s laughter.

“No, Captain, it’s too good – it’s too damn good. I – here I am, having just met the guy who started this whole fucking nightmare in the first place, and then I find out that I have two souls inside my body, not just mine, and then – and then I just – I just _forget_ that Tony forgot me! I even – I even –.”

“Peter, you need to calm down – you need to stop and take a breath, you –.”

Peter shook his head, trying to suck in breaths while at the same time not giving a damn. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not anymore.”

“Why?” Steve pressed. “Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I failed. I broke our deal. And now Seftis is back, and he’s going to kill you. He’s going to take over Stark Industries and he’s going to kill you all. I failed. I failed.”

He had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very, very sorry for the wait. This was by far the most difficult chapter to write, and between real life and work, it was just very difficult to get done. Sorry :(
> 
> To everyone who took the time to leave comments - I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond to you all, I will definitely try to stay on top of that in future. Just know that I am so utterly grateful to you all, and honoured and humbled - you are all way, way too kind and generous, and I appreciate every single one of you and your incredibly kind words. Thank you!
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo - your support means the world to me!


	18. The Calm Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! 
> 
> Thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me as I took a mini-hiatus. I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter. We are entering the final arc! :D
> 
> Thank you all as well who have left kudos and comments, as always, I can never express my awe and amazement at your incredible kindness and generosity - thank you!!
> 
> Here we go!

Peter could hear them through the walls, his ears picking up their voices as though they were only just outside the door, rather than three rooms down. They were arguing, or talking, at least, about what had happened with Seftis. About how some strange man had shown up out of nowhere and attacked them, and Tony was left frozen where he stood as the man and Peter spoke. Tony’s skepticism was evident in his voice as he relayed the events, and it was clear that even he wasn’t sure whether or not he believed what he was saying.

Peter turned his head away, trying to focus his attention elsewhere. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to Tony’s unbelief about the truth. If he would rather stay in his world of happy ignorance, who was Peter to stop him?

After Peter had un-surreptitiouslyannounced his failure and the impending doom of all the Avengers, Steve had had the good sense to remove Tony from the room – who had been looking at Peter as though he’d grown a third head, next to the second one he had already grown just shortly after Seftis had disappeared – taking Bucky and Bruce with him. Peter had been left alone, and was more than happy to be so. Because even if people had started questioning him, he didn’t think he’d have the voice to answer.

He listened as the birds sang outside, their songs crisp and clear in the winter air. He did his best to focus on them, to force his ears to hear nothing but their songs, to make himself believe that, if only for a little while, these birds and him were the only creatures on the entire earth.

“ _So what, you’re saying – you’re saying that I know this kid? And that somehow I just – I just randomly forgot he existed? Really? That’s what you want me to believe?”_

Peter’s brows twitched, Tony’s loud, incredulous voice breaking through his concentration. He took a steady breath, trying to once again turn his attention to the outside. But no matter how much he tried to ignore them, their voices still managed to reach his ears.

He could hear Steve talking, his voice low and words murmured together as he spoke, obviously trying to be the one calm person in a room full of chaos. Peter couldn’t quite make it out, but by Tony’s response, it was evident what had been said.

“ _Are you kidding, Rogers? I mean, it’s one thing to try and convince me that I had my memories wiped, and that there might be some kid I once knew hanging out in New York – but you’re actually trying to tell me that he was – that he was an_ Avenger _? Really? The kid looks like he’s twelve years old! There’s no way he could have been an Avenger! Not to mention I would never have allowed it. Even if he does have super-strength, or – or whatever.”_

Peter swallowed, his jaw clenching. He turned over on his side, wrapping the blankets tightly around his shoulders and bringing them up to cover his ears. He didn’t want to hear any more of this.

He could still hear the voices, but this time they were indistinguishable enough that he no longer had to listen to what they had to say.

Seconds passed, then minutes, and before he really realised it, Peter had closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He woke with a start, his senses suddenly flaring to life and quickly whispering that there was someone else in the room. When he turned back, his eyes met Bruce, who was looking guiltily towards him as he sat halfway down in his chair.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Was hoping I wouldn’t wake you.”

Peter frowned at him a moment longer, before turning his gaze to the window. It was dark out, which meant he had slept most of the day away.

“You were out like a light,” Bruce commented. “So we figured we’d let you get your sleep. I doubt you’ve had much of it, lately.”

Peter took a deep breath through his nose and moved until he was sitting up. Everyone was still alive, then, he supposed. But the clock was ticking.

Neither man said anything for a few minutes, Bruce patiently waiting for Peter to make the first move, and Peter determinedly intent on not saying a word. Besides, what could he say? By now everyone knew everything there was to know about all that had happened. There was nothing more to be said.

Clearly, however, Bruce disagreed, and with an awkward cough he began to speak.

“So…” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said dismissively.

Bruce waited a moment, expecting Peter to say more, but it quickly became clear that he wasn’t going to. The older man sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms.

“There’s nothing you’d like to talk about?” he pressed. When Peter didn’t respond, he continued. “How about what happened outside, earlier today? That was quite something, I heard. Even Tony was caught off guard, and I have to say, not a whole lot takes him by surprise.”

“Yeah, well, if Mister Stark’s already told you what happened, then I don’t think you need to hear anything from me.” The words were biting and more angry than Peter had intended, but he found it hard to find the will to care.

Bruce was silent for a moment, then said, “From what I’ve learned in the past twelve hours, Peter, I don’t think it’s Tony who has all the answers. In fact, out of nearly all of us, I’d say he has the least.”

There was a long moment of silence after that, until at last Peter spoke, his eyes never leaving the window. “Do you remember me?” he asked.

There was a pause, then, “No. I don’t. As far as I know, only Steve and Bucky know who you are. I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter had been expecting that answer, but somehow it still hurt when he heard it. Not much, but enough to make him remember why he’d ever lost hope in the first place. Or more precisely, refused to ever have it to begin with.

“So… so do you think you can tell me what happened out there?” Bruce asked. “Do you know who that guy was? Did he say what he wanted, or –.”

“His name is Seftis,” Peter interrupted. “He showed up two years ago, started attacking New York, bombing buildings and wrecking the piers down in the harbor. I went after him first, then Mister Stark showed up. The guy killed over seven people before we were able to get him cornered. And then….” Peter swallowed. “And then he gave me an ultimatum. Said I could either let everyone die, or I could let him take their memories of me and they could live. I don’t think it’s too hard to figure out which option I took.

“The deal was though, that you guys didn’t remember. That I stayed away from you. That I let you move on with your lives. But if I didn’t do that, if you guys ever remembered or even heard what had happened, he’d kill you all.” Peter chuckled humourlessly. “And he showed up. Just like he said he would. Just like I knew he would. I tried to get away from you guys, I tried to leave you alone, but….” Peter swallowed. “But I guess I wasn’t even good enough to be able to do that.”

Peter fell quiet and Bruce didn’t immediately respond. They simply sat for a few minutes, neither saying a word.

Bruce probably thought he was crazy. He probably thought this whole thing was crazy. Peter sure did. If it were him on the other side, sitting in Bruce’s chair, he’d probably have thought he had completely lost his mind.

He heard Bruce shift, and for a moment Peter thought that he was getting up to leave. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he needed time to recover from dealing with the schizo kid. If Peter himself could get away from this all, he would, and –

“Peter, I was wondering if I could run some tests on you. With your permission, of course. You see, I don’t know if you remember, but a while ago I told you about the… the unknown energy I had found in your body, when you were still recovering in the med-ward. Do you remember that? Well, anyway, I was wondering if I could run some more tests on it.

“You mentioned something about having two souls; I’m not really sure what you meant by that, but I thought that maybe if you expounded on that, and if I ran some tests, we could maybe try and figure out what it –.”

Bruce stopped as his eyes met Peter’s, who had suddenly turned his head and was now looking at him with furrowed brows.

Bruce faltered. “Wh-what is it, Peter?”

Peter stared at him a moment longer, before saying, “You sure pay an awful lot of attention, don’t you?”

Peter held Bruce’s gaze for a few more seconds, before leaning back against his pillows and looking away. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were paying attention. It’s your job, I guess.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wanted to be just like you, you know, once. I’d written so many essays using your articles, or about whatever you were working on. And then when I met you, you were just like I thought you’d be, but more… more quiet, I guess.”

He was digressing, telling Bruce this was completely unnecessary. And yet, once he had started, he found he couldn’t stop.

“But I tended to hang around Mister Stark more, because – well, because I guess because he was loud, and I –.” Peter choked out a laugh. “And I was so, so loud, I – I talked all the time, even if no one was listening, I’d just be talking to myself and I – I talked even more than Mister Stark. I drove Happy insane. I think his favourite word for me was ‘shut up’, ha ha. Because I would just… I would just talk and talk and talk, and… and….”

A shudder ran though Peter’s body and he sucked in a breath, choking out a sob as he did. He quickly reeled himself back in, pushing down the emotion that had come out of nowhere, and was now fervently trying to claw its way out of his chest.

Bruce watched him for a few moments, before leaning forward. “Peter, I may… I may not know what’s happened, or what’s even happening now. But I think… I think you need to talk to someone; Steve, maybe, or Bucky. They remember you. They know who you are, and –.”

“Don’t bother, Doctor Banner,” Peter interrupted. “What does it matter if I talk to someone, if you’re all gonna die in the end?”

“And that’s another thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Bruce responded. He leaned forward once more, rubbing his hands together. “You… you, uh – you keep saying how we – the Avengers, I suppose – how we’re all going to die, now that we know about… about all this. Steve and Bucky said that you… that you talked a lot about it.”

“Because it’s true. Seftis even showed up. He did exactly what he promised he’d do. Exactly what I said he’d do. He attacked Mister Stark, and –.”

“And I think that’s the key word, Peter. He tried. He _tried_ to attack Tony, but he failed. You keep saying you’re the one that failed, that we’re all gonna die, but….” Bruce lifted his hands and shook his head. “But from what I can see, we’re all still here. And you’re still here. And this – this Seftis guy, he… he’s gone. At least for now, anyway. If he had actually intended to kill all of us, wouldn’t he still be here? Wouldn’t we be fighting him, right now? Wouldn’t… wouldn’t we be dead?”

Peter was trying not to look at Bruce; he was staring determinedly at the white wall in front of him, his fingers clenched into fists by his sides, not wanting to hear what Bruce was saying.

Because… because the fact of the matter was, the words the older man was saying, were the same words that had been whispering in the back of his mind ever since he’d met Tony on that rooftop, all those months ago. Words that had risen from a whisper to a loud voice, ever since he’d first been at the Compound. And now a loud voice that had turned into a scream, when Seftis had returned, had made his threats and promises, but no one had died. No one had even been hurt.

He didn’t know what it meant. If it meant anything at all. Because in the end it could just be a momentary relapse, an accidental miss, and the next time he showed up, Seftis would finally hit his marks, and… and….

But the small voice in the back of Peter’s mind, the one that had remained, that had stayed, even years after all other hope had left… it continued to insist that maybe, just maybe, Seftis was wrong.

That maybe, just maybe, it had all been a lie from the very start.

Peter’s fists clenched tighter and he jerked, turning his eyes towards the window and the darkness outside.

No. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t have been a lie. Seftis’ threats had to be true, they were _still_ true. Because, because if they weren’t… if, after all this time, it had all been… been a lie, then… then that would mean….

Peter swallowed against the lump in his throat, his ears barely hearing when Bruce started to speak again.

“I think there are some other important questions, too. For instance, if – since – Seftis took all our memories, I think one of the first questions we should ask is, why didn’t he take yours? In fact, why you, at all? Why not Tony, or Steve, or any other one of us? And in the end, I think one of the most important questions, is who is this guy in the first place? Where does he come from? Is he someone from Earth, or….”

Deep in the back of his mind, Peter knew why he had been singled out. He knew why he had been targeted, over all others. Though he didn’t know why his memories had been left, when every else’s had been taken. He had often wished he’d forgotten who he was, along with everyone else. But he knew that the reason Seftis had gone after him at all in the first place was because of Ascar. This foreign creature that had decided to take up residence in his body, and in the process turn his entire life into hell.

Bruce continued to posit his questions, more to himself than to Peter, but Peter didn’t care. He was hardly listening anyways. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d never had those questions before, in the last two years. But for Peter, there was only one question that really mattered.

What was he going to do now?

Seftis was back. Just as he always feared he would be. Steve and Bucky remembered who he was, and everyone else either already – or would be – told.

He had spent the last two years of his life with Seftis’ threat always in the back of his mind. Every choice he’d made – whether conscious or unconscious – had been made with the full knowledge that it had to keep him away from the Avengers. Everything he did, he did to keep them safe. To keep them alive.

But he had failed. And now there was seemingly nothing else to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable. Wait for the final strike that would kill them at last.

But no matter how much he imagined their impending end, Peter couldn’t get Bruce’s words out of his mind.

Seftis hadn’t killed them, even though he should have. They were still here, when by all accounts they shouldn’t be. So this death that Peter kept going on about, when would it happen? Today? Tomorrow? A week from now? A month?

… never?

Other questions swarmed within him. Quieter ones, but ones that were no less important. And though he didn’t want to think about it, there was the very naked fact that Seftis _had_ tried to kill them, or at least kill Tony. And Peter had jumped in the way. And when he’d woken up – when he somehow woke up – Seftis was gone, and Tony was still alive and completely uninjured.

Which led him all the way back to Ascar. The creature living in his chest, in his body. The second soul that had been living within him for… how long now? Peter had no idea. But the Being claimed that it was because of him that Seftis couldn’t kill them, that Seftis couldn’t kill Peter. Though how a creature could die once in body but not a second in spirit, was beyond him. And at the moment, he was far too exhausted to care.

“Peter?”

Peter blinked and looked over to Bruce, who was staring back at him with gentle eyes. “Peter, I think you should stay here for the night. You obviously need more rest, and it’s nearly ten-o’clock anyway. I think we’re all going to be heading to bed soon, after today.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, to state that he just slept most of the day away, but before he could say anything, the sounds of footsteps reached his ears, and a few seconds later the door opened, and Steve and Bucky walked inside.

Steve’s eyes met Peter’s, and Peter looked away. The recognition they now held jarred him, and he still wasn’t sure how to take it all in.

“Peter,” Steve said, stepping forward until he’d reached the foot of his bed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Peter responded automatically. He watched as Steve glanced over at Bucky, before turning his gaze back to him.

“Was that him out there?” he asked. “The one who started this all?”

Peter held Steve’s gaze for a moment, before answering, “Yes.”

Steve looked away, nodding to himself. “All right. Okay, all right. Good. That’s good. At least we know he’s still around. Now we just need to figure out how to draw him out again.”

He sat down in one of the chairs, while Bucky remained standing. He locked eyes with Peter once more. “Do you know what you were doing, before he showed up? Did he say anything? We asked Tony, but he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on. He heard everything that was said, but he didn’t understand –.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Peter interrupted. He pushed himself back further against the pillows. “Why would he? He has no idea what’s going on, he doesn’t know who Seftis is, he doesn’t even –.” Peter stopped himself, biting his tongue just in time, internally berating himself. It had been two years, he had gotten over the fact that no one remembered him a long time ago. So why –

Steve stared at Peter for a long moment, a look in his eye that Peter didn’t even want to being to figure out.

“Peter,” he finally said, “we’re going to fix this. I promise. Everyone will get their memories back, including Tony. We just have to have patience. We just need to take a step back, and figure this all out and –.”

“Patience?” Peter repeated. His brows were raised and his eyes were wide, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “Patience?! You want me to have patience?!” He leaned forward, grabbing the blankets and ripping them off of him. “It’s been two years! Two years! And now you’re telling me I need to be patient, that we’re going to ‘fix’ this, that everyone is going to get their memories back?” He dropped his leg over the side of the bed, stepping onto the floor.

“Well news flash for you, Captain – _I don’t care!_ I don’t care whether anyone remembers me or not. I don’t _need_ to have patience, because I’m not waiting for anything! I gave up on anything changing a long time ago! And now you think I suddenly care again? You think I suddenly need Mister Stark to remember who I am, to protect me?! Well unless you didn’t realise, Captain – I’m eighteen. And I don’t need your help, I don’t need Mister Stark’s help, I don’t need anyon –.”

Peter’s words were cut off as he put both feet on the cold tile, and both of his legs promptly fell out from under him. He fell to the floor in a heap.

“Peter!”

“Peter, are you okay?”

Peter bit his lip, trying to ignore the pain from where his knees had both collided with the tile.

“Damn it,” he cursed out loud. _Why am I so weak?!_ He thought he was just tired, that he needed some more sleep, but his arms and legs now suddenly felt like jelly, and he couldn’t even think of standing to his feet, much less walking away.

Steve’s hands were suddenly under his arms and before he could even blink, Peter found himself back on the bed, the covers being hastily laid across him.

“Peter,” Steve said quietly. “What happened out there?”

Peter held Steve’s gaze for a long, long moment, then….

He told him everything.

Well, almost everything. Everything that Bruce already knew. The part about Ascar, about there being someone else’s soul inside of him – for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to mention it. He barely knew anything about it himself, he still needed time to figure it out, to accept it. And after being on his own for two years, the need to think and figure things out on his own had become more natural – had become more important – than he had even realised.

So, no. He would keep Ascar and his… his new _abilities_ , if they could even be called as such, to himself. For now.

Once he had finished explaining what had happened, Steve went silent. Finally, after what felt like an age, he stood to his feet.

“Get some sleep, Peter,” he said absently, and Peter knew that while he seemed quiet and relaxed, his mind was running a mile a minute, trying to understand everything Peter had just told him, trying to figure out where they should go from here.

Steve headed towards the door and stepped out into the hallway. With a small glance and a quick nod, Bucky followed behind him.

“I’ll have someone bring you some food,” Bruce said, standing to his feet. “You must be starving.”

At the mere mention of food, Peter’s stomach started to ache, and he couldn’t have been more glad for Bruce’s keen observation skills.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Pete.”

And with that, Bruce left, and Peter was once again left alone. Not that he cared; in fact, for the first time since Bucky had remembered him, he actually felt like he could breathe.

Peter leaned back against his pillows, allowing his mind to finally wander as he waited for his late-night supper. His chest was warm, and he absently rubbed his hand against it.

He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. So even though he wanted to stay up, even though he knew that this was no time for sleeping, he couldn’t help but look forward to a few hours of thinking absolutely nothing.

From down the hallway, Steve’s quiet voice met Peter’s ears.

“ _He’s… different. He… he’s nothing like before. Before he was… he was so energetic, so… alive. He was the happiest kid I knew. I didn’t think anything could bring him down. And now… now he’s….”_

The door to the elevator shut, and with it Steve’s voice and any response that Bucky or Bruce were about to give.

Peter closed his eyes, and breathed.

* * *

A day passed, then two, then three. Steve and Bucky came and spent as much time as they could with Peter, until they were forced to attend to other issues, or until Peter told them to leave. With Seftis gone and nothing happening that was out of the ordinary, much of their time was spent researching as much as they could about who Seftis could possibly be. They had never asked Peter to help them, but it was clear the invitation was always there. But no matter how much he thought he ought to help them, Peter found he just couldn’t go with them.

Instead, he found himself taking walks outside through the trees, walks that started out as no longer than twenty minutes at a time, but by the fourth day had grew into over an hour. More than once he’d had Bucky or Steve or even one of the security chasing after him, making sure he wasn’t running away. Though annoyed, he couldn’t blame them; from his past behaviour, he’d certainly warranted a leash around his neck.

Every day he expected Seftis to return. Every morning he woke up, wondering whether today would be the day that he finally came back and killed them all. And every night he went to bed he closed his eyes, wondering whether they would all still be alive in the morning. He never did, and they always were, and those facts left him with an odd sort of emptiness that felt very foreign. How could he possibly live, when he spent each day waiting for death?

How could he live, knowing that the death he expected may never come?

But no. That was still something Peter didn’t want to accept. Not yet. He could believe that Seftis was busy, that he was recovering – if he’d ever been hurt at all – but the idea that all of this had been a lie to begin with, that what Peter had believed for the last two years had been false from the very start – it hurt in a way he wasn’t expecting, made him feel as though his entire body was being ripped in two; and so for as long as he could, he’d continue to believe that Seftis was coming for them.

Because he didn’t know how he could function, otherwise.

He hadn’t seen Tony since the incident four days ago. As far as he’d been told, the man had holed himself up in his lab and had barely made an appearance outside ever since. Pepper was off on a business trip in Europe, and Peter had no idea when she would be back.

Which meant Steve – as per usual, it seemed – was left as the interim leader in this whole, chaotic mess. But of course leading came natural to him, so he didn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, he was probably happy not having to fight Tony for the role.

But that also meant he had to try and tell Tony what to do, or at least push him in the direction he wanted him to go; which of course never went over well, no matter the situation.

A pine-cone crunched beneath his foot as he stepped over a fallen tree. He could hear the sound of running water, and knew the river was nearby. After a few more minutes he had arrived, and spying a tree with particularly long branches, he proceeded to climb up it, until, with a deep exhale, he finally sat down.

For a moment, nothing could be heard but the songs of the birds, the gentle whisper of the wind, and the bubbling of the river. Leaning his head back against the trunk, Peter closed his eyes and let his thoughts fade away.

-

It was the sound of crunching snow, that woke him.

As in the med-ward, he quickly sat up like a shot, his eyes wide and ears open, looking every which way as he tried to find the source of the noise.

He heard an “oomph”, followed by the cracking of bark, and he looked down to see someone lifting themselves onto the branches, and slowly making their way up the tree.

Clint.

Peter said nothing as the archer spent the next few minutes making his way higher and higher, until at last with a thump and a deep sigh, he sat down on the other side of the trunk beside Peter.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he grunted. He maneuvered himself until his feet were dangling over the branch. He sighed. “Nah, who am I kidding. I _am_ too old for this. How you made it all the way up here with your lungs intact, I’ll never know.”

Peter stared at Clint for a long moment, before looking away and back towards the river. He hadn’t seen the older man in well over a week and a half; he hadn’t even known if he’d left the compound or not. He imagined he had. His wife and kids were far too important, for him to let a day go by when he could otherwise be with them.

Peter ignored the twisting that churned in his stomach.

“So, Pete,” Clint began. “I go away for a few days and all hell breaks loose, huh? The guys told me what happened, so I won’t even ask.”

Relief washed over him, grateful that he wouldn’t have to repeat the events a third time, and Peter was reminded again why he had always liked Clint Barton.

They sat together in silence, the sounds of the river and wind filling their ears.

For a moment, Peter wondered if Clint had only come to give him company, to be an extra, if not caring, watchful eye. But after a few minutes had passed, the man finally spoke.

“I went back to the farm, in case you were wondering where I was.”

He had wondered, but he had already assumed that that’s what he’d done. And Peter couldn’t blame him; if he still had the safe haven of his attic, he’d have run back there too, if he could have.

“But you probably already knew that. I’m sure you know a lot of things about me.”

Peter’s brows twitched and he turned to Clint, his lips pulled slightly down into a frown.

He… there was no way… could he have actually remem –

“I don’t remember you,” Clint said, interrupting his thoughts, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

The sudden anticipation that had built in his chest quickly dissipated, and Peter turned back to the river, both thankful for, and hating Clint’s bluntness.

Silence fell over them once more, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder when Clint was going to leave. If company was the only thing he was going to give him, he would much rather do without it.

“You know,” Clint said, breaking the silence. “I was wondering – and you can say no if you don’t want to, it’s totally up to you – but I was thinking, if you wanted, that you could come out to the farm some time. The kids would like you, I already know that. Lila would probably be smitten with you, but I’ll make sure she leaves you alone. And of course, if you go near her I’ll have to break your neck.” He gave Peter a smile. “Nothing personal, of course. Just doing my fatherly duty.”

Peter didn’t want to let the small smile pull at his lips, but it did so anyway. Because the fact was that Before, he _had_ gone to Clint’s farm, and he had met his wife and their kids. The boys _had_ taken a liking to him, and Lila – though she had only been eleven at the time – _had_ acted as though he were Thor come down to earth himself. He remembered the look of annoyance on Clint’s face as his daughter stared endlessly at him, her eyes wide and filled with stars, and the whispers to his wife when he thought Peter was too far away to hear, grumbling about how Lila was too young to care about boys. Laura had just laughed.

He didn’t realise that the smile on his face had grown, until Clint was suddenly huffing in annoyance.

“Great,” he said. “Let me guess – you’ve already been there, and Lila has already declared her undying love for you. Gah, I knew I should have locked her up when she became a teenager.”

Peter was confused. Why was Clint acting like he knew him, when he said himself that he didn’t remember who he was? Why was he being so friendly, when Peter had yet to say a word?

“Why do you believe them?” Peter finally asked, eyeing Clint up and down, watching his movements, searching his face, wondering why on earth he was even here. “How do you know that they’re not lying to you, that I haven’t tricked them, that this all isn’t some… some ploy, by Osborn or anyone else, to try and weasel my way into Stark Industries, to weasel my way into the Avengers –.”

“Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker,” Clint interrupted. “You grew up in Queens with your mom and dad, Mary and Richard, until they died when you were eight. You went to live with your aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. You went to Midtown Junior Tech, had the highest marks in your year, was set to graduate a year early with multiple scholarships headed your way. You were fourteen when you went off the grid. Just… disappeared.

“There aren’t any records of any missing persons reports that had been filed. The school you went to never reported you absent. In fact, when questioned, none of the teachers who were there during your years even remembered who you were. And when I talked to your aunt, she claimed she didn’t even have a nephew, much less one that had lived with her.

“So yeah, I believe you. And even if I didn’t know all that stuff, I’d still think you were telling the truth. I’ve worked with SHIELD, and now Stark, long enough to know that there’s some crazy stuff that happens out there. Lot’s of things I once thought were impossible, aren’t.

“And besides, I’ve been watching you. I know what someone who’s trying to manipulate others looks like; I know what a liar looks like. It’s my job. And you, Peter, are none of those things. You’re just a kid, caught up in a whole lot of shit that should never have come your way.”

Clint leaned forward, resting his leg against a nearby branch, looking out across the snow-covered forest, more relaxed than Peter had ever seen. “And you knew my kids’ names. My family’s the most important thing to me in the whole world; one of the stipulations I made when I began working for SHIELD and for Stark, was that my family was kept safe, that no one knew they even existed. Their files are kept under lock and key, and even those barely say who they are.

“So unless you’re a mind-reader – which I guess isn’t out of the realm of possibility, these days – or really good at hacking into computers and mainframes you shouldn’t even know exist, then what else can I assume but that you’re telling the truth? And you’re right – neither of the boys would want to give up their beds in exchange for the couch or the floor. They can be greedy little guys, I’ll give them that. Laura and I are working on it.”

Peter stared at Clint, unable to say a word. Finally he leaned back, falling into silence.

After a long while, Clint’s earlier words finally registered, and he looked back over to him, his eyes growing wide. “Wait, did you… did you say you saw my aunt?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Really nice woman, only looked at me like I was crazy until I explained I had the wrong place, then practically invited me in for dinner.” There was a pause. “So is Andrew her husband, or –.”

“Andrew’s her boyfriend,” Peter said quickly, an unintended bite in his voice. He paused for a moment, then said, “well, he could be her husband, for all I know. Heck, she might even be pregnant. They might have adopted, or –.” Peter cut himself off, taking a breath. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m eighteen now, it’s not like I could live with her again, even if she did remember me.”

He hadn’t even noticed it had been his birthday a couple weeks ago; in fact, it wasn’t until a week after that he realised it had come and gone, and that the mark of adulthood that was such an important milestone for many, had come and gone with it, passed by completely unnoticed. He had waited so long for it, had been counting down the days in his head for years, until he finally reached the age where he could leave New York and start a new life far, far away.

But the money he had saved for that venture was now gone, burnt to a crisp, and he had nothing to his name except for the clothes on his back. And he was stuck in the Avengers Compound, he mustn’t forget that. Stuck waiting for a death that just wouldn’t seem to come, no matter how much he found himself wishing for it.

It was then that the rest of Clint’s words finally seemed to register, and he turned to the man, brows furrowed questioningly. “Wait, how did you know any of that other stuff, anyway? Did you actually just –.”

“Break into government files?” Clint finished. “Yup. Wasn’t even sure I’d find you, to be honest. But Stark’s AIs are uncannily suited for doing the impossible. Or borderline illegal. Not that I ever doubted you existed, of course – obviously you do. But since everyone’s minds got wiped, I figured the computers did, too. But I couldn’t get anything past fourteen. Any reason you think, why that’d be?”

Now that Peter thought of it, the cops at the police station hadn’t been able to find anything past age fourteen, either. Still confused and panicked over finding everyone had forgotten him and he was now alone, he hadn’t dwelt on the question that long, and had forgotten it soon after. But now that Clint brought it up, Peter couldn’t help but wonder about it as well. Why would Seftis go through the trouble of erasing him from all digital records, but only after the age of fourteen? What about that age, made it so special, if anything at all?

Then, like a lightning bolt, Peter knew why.

The bite. That was the age he’d been bitten by the spider. The age he’d gained strength only rivaled by Captain America himself. The age he’d gained enhanced senses and could literally climb up walls with his fingertips.

The age he became Spider-Man.

Clint continued to stare, and Peter licked his lips. “That was, uh… that was the age I got… I got bitten. By the… the spider.”

Clint seemed bemused for a moment, before realisation dawned.

“So Seftis left just enough trace of you, that people wouldn’t get suspicious, but he removed any and all traces that connected you with your powers or the Avengers.” Clint huffed. “The guy’s an asshole, but he’s thorough, I’ll give him that.”

“Mister Barton, not that I –.”

“Clint, kid. Call me Clint.”

“Cl… Clint. Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your company, or learning all the new ways I’ve been screwed over, but… what exactly are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, out on a mission or something?”

Clint grinned. “Nah, I’m on something of a holiday for a while, unless absolutely necessary. Actually, I’m waiting for a friend. You probably know her – The Black Widow?”

A small smile crept onto his face, and Peter looked away.

Natasha.

Yeah, Peter knew her. He’d been completely overwhelmed and terrified of her, at first. But after Germany and Homecoming, she had forced Peter to talk to her like a coherent human being, and Peter had quickly learned that beneath the assassin exterior, an incredibly kind heart lay beneath. One more gentle and understanding than it had any right to be, especially with Peter, still so new to the Avengers and superhero world.

“I’m going to take that as a yes, then,” Clint answered for himself. “Well, she’s just getting back from a mission right now. Should be arriving any minute. After she debriefs, I’m gonna stop by her floor and say hi.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “did you know her well, before?”

Peter took a moment to answer, but when he did, he was honest. “Kind of. I fought with her in Germany, against –.” Peter stopped himself, and took a breath. “Anyways. After… after an… an incident, during my school’s homecoming, she swore she was going to teach me how to properly fight. You know, like… like you guys do. She’d been teaching me, when she could. But we only managed to get a few lessons in, before….” He swallowed. “Before.”

Clint stared at him, his lips pressed together, his eyes staring at Peter in a way that he couldn’t quite make out. Finally after a few minutes he gently tapped the branch he was sitting on with his hand, before reaching up and grabbing the branch above him. “Well then, let’s go meet her! We’ll see if she can start training you again. Knowing Nat, I’m sure she’ll take any opportunity to tell someone when they’re doing something wrong.”

He lifted himself off the branch, and before Peter knew what was happening, the man had practically ran down the tree to the ground below. And he thought _he_ was the spider.

But regardless of Clint’s still very-agile abilities, Peter couldn’t let him leave so quickly.

“Mister Bar – Clint,” he said, exasperated. “You don’t – there’s no point in talking to her. If you talked to Mister Rogers or – or Mister Barnes, then you know that – that once Seftis comes back, you’re all… you’re going to….” Peter swallowed again. “It’s better if you all just leave me be. There’s no point in trying to act like friends, or… or….”

“Kid,” Clint said, looking up at him. “The way I see it, just because we forgot who you are before, doesn’t mean we have to forget who you are now. Whether you like it or not, we know you now, and that’s not gonna change. So get your ass down here, and come with me back to the compound. I’ve already told Nat we’re meeting her there, so you can’t get out of it. Sorry, but not really.”

Peter stared at Clint for a long, silent moment.

He didn’t know what to think, or what he should say, if he should say anything at all.

But Clint wasn’t going to give him time to think about it.

“Come on, kid,” he said, starting to walk away. “If you got in Nat’s good books once, I know you can do it again. But hurry up – once she takes her shower, she’ll refuse to do anything for the rest of the day. Let’s go!”

Peter watched as Clint walked through the trees and into the forest. Then, finally, just as he began to disappear, Peter crawled down the tree and began to follow.

* * *

“Nat, you finally made it back! I thought I’d have to go searching for your ass and bring you back myself.”

They were in the second-floor lounging room; Clint and Peter had been sitting on the highly-luxurious couches until Natasha had finally arrived.

Natasha smiled. “If you’d done that, I’d have been forced to spend my time saving you, again. And you know how Fury is about efficiency and cutting the ends that don’t matter.”

“Ah, you wound me.”

Natasha’s smile grew, until he eyes moved past Clint and came to rest on Peter. She blinked, her smile now set firmly on her face. “Who’s this?” she asked, eyes flickering briefly to Clint before turning back to Peter.

“This is Peter,” Clint replied, motioning to the younger man. “He’s… well, let’s just say he’s complicated.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times, Barton,” Natasha said. “I’ve heard a few complicated stories in my time.”

“Well all right, then.” Clint wrapped his arm around Peter, jostling him with a smile. “Peter is an Avenger. He used to work with us on missions, helped save the world a time or two. He even helped us with Thanos, isn’t that right, Pete?”

Peter’s eyes were wide, not knowing what to say. “Um….”

Clint turned back to Natasha, his smile now reaching his eyes. “You were even teaching him some of your moves, Nat. Which, I have to say, is kind of unfair. The last time you shared one of your moves with me was, what – seven, eight years ago? How come you refuse to tell me your secrets, but you’ll spill everything to him, huh?”

Natasha’s eyebrow was raised, staring at Clint and Peter curiously, but otherwise gave nothing away.

“Well, anyway,” Clint continued, “it turns out that we were attacked two years ago. This guy showed up and screwed around with our memories; so Peter here got kicked to the curb, and we were none the wiser.” He grinned. “How’s that for a debrief, eh?”

Natasha’s single eyebrow remained raised, but otherwise Peter could see nothing of what was going through her mind.

Finally, she said, “huh. Well maybe I was wrong, Barton. Turns out there are a few complicated stories I haven’t heard.”

Peter had expected her to walk away, to ignore him, to at least question Clint about the absurd story that had just spilled through his mouth.

But instead, to his surprise, Natasha turned to him and held out her hand. “I’m Natasha Romanoff,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Peter shook her hand in return. “Um, P-Peter. Peter Parker.”

An odd look passed over Natasha’s face, and Clint opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment footsteps came sounding through the halls. Peter turned to see Steve turning round the corner and heading towards them, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes set in a hard, serious stare.

“Hey Cap,” Clint greeted. His tone was light, but Peter knew by the shift in his stance, that he knew something was up, as well.

“Hey,” Steve replied, drawing up in front of them. He nodded at Natasha and Clint, before his eyes settled on Peter. “Hey, Peter.”

Peter gave a weak smile in response, but before the captain could say anything more, Clint asked, “What bring you all the way down to the second floor? I didn’t know you knew any other floor existed, aside from yours and the ninth.”

It was a quiet attempt at appearing as though nothing were wrong, while knowing clearly that Steve had come here for a reason.

“Have any of you seen Tony lately?” Steve asked. “He isn’t in his workshop, and FRIDAY won’t tell me where he is; he put some sort of muzzle on her, said he wanted to be left alone for awhile, and….”

“Sorry Cap,” Clint said. “Haven’t seen him in four days now. And Nat here just stepped off the jet.”

Steve’s eyes glanced over to Peter, and Peter quickly shook his head.

Steve sighed and his teeth clenched. “It’s just, we need to talk to him about something, and I thought he may have gone back to New York, but I’m not sure, and –.”

“Steve!”

All four looked up at the voice, to see none other than Pepper Potts walking purposefully down the hallway, her high-heeled shoes echoing against the walls.

“Pepper,” Steve said, surprised. “You’re back. When did you get in? I –.”

“I just got back thirty minutes ago. What’s going on?”

Steve blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I was getting the updates from FRIDAY, and she was saying that Tony had locked himself in his workshop for three days straight, and that he only came out today because he had a meeting in New York. He only does that when shit really hits the fan. So what the heck happened?!”

“He… there was…” Steve stuttered. He sighed. “A lot has happened, since you were away,” he said at last. “And, well… it’s a long story, and let’s just say that Tony didn’t take it very well.”

Something in Peter twinged at those words, a flash of anger running through his body, but he quickly pushed it away, telling himself that there were far more important things to pay attention to now, than Tony’s hatred of him.

“Well I should think I should probably hear it now, before Tony gets back. He’s in his meeting with Oscorp and I doubt it will take long, so the sooner I know what’s going on, the better, and –.”

“Wait, did you say – did you say Oscorp?”

Pepper looked down at him with raised brows, and Peter suddenly realised that it was him that had spoken.

“Yes,” Pepper replied stiffly. “I did. And who are you, may I ask?”

Peter suddenly remembered exactly why Pepper was the CEO, and why he had vowed never to get on her bad side.

“This is Peter Parker,” Steve interjected, putting himself between the two before any further exchange could be made. “He’s – he’s the kid that saved Clint, down in New York. He didn’t have a place to stay, so I – I brought him here.”

Pepper’s eyes were now wide with incredulity.

“You brought him here,” she repeated. “You brought a homeless kid here, to a top-secret facility, hours away from New York City, because you – because you wanted to thank him? Am I getting that right?”

Before Steve could even so much as nod, she continued, “And you couldn’t have just given him some money, or set him up in an apartment, because…?”

Steve’s eyes suddenly narrowed, his stare turning hard. “Because I wanted to, Miss Potts, and I think that after all I’ve done for this… _facility_ , that I should be allowed to help those that I want to, when I want to. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

Pepper gave Steve a hard stare, a silent battle being fought between the two for a few moments, before Pepper finally relented.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m sorry, Steve, you’re right. You are free to help whoever you want to help. But in the future, might I ask that you at least use some discretion, when choosing who to bring to the Compound?”

“I did,” Steve replied sternly. “In fact, I don’t think anyone else is as deserving as Peter to walk through those doors. And if you remembered him, you’d know that, too.”

The frustration that had narrowed Pepper’s brows gave way to confusion, and her eyes flickered between Peter and Steve.

“And what on earth is that supposed to mea –.”

Peter wanted to let the two continue, to watch the two alphas go against each other, but Pepper’s words still ran through his mind like fire, and Peter needed to know if what she’d said was true.

“Miss Potts,” he interrupted. He tried not to falter as Pepper’s eyes settled back on him. “Miss Potts, where did you say that Mister Stark was? I thought you said he was meeting with someone from Oscorp, and –.”

“Yes, I did,” Pepper said tersely. “Oscorp and Stark Industries are partnering some of their research departments together, and Tony just went to sign a couple of the last documents and work out the final details, before the merger begins on Monday.”

Peter swallowed, his heart suddenly beating loudly in his chest. “And who… who is he meeting with? Is he meeting with one of the management team, or –.”

“He’s meeting with Osborn himself. Norman’s been away these past few weeks, so we need to talk to him directly one last time before we continue. Why do you ask?” Her eyes turned to Steve. “Is something going on right now? Do you – do you need _Iron Man_ , or –.”

But Peter was no longer listening. Because in the chaos of this last week, in seeing Seftis come back, he had completely forgotten that Osborn was still out there, that he was still trying to take over Tony’s company, and – and –

Realisation had now dawned on Steve, too, his eyes growing wide for a moment, before narrowing once more, this time steeling in determination.

“We need to get him out of there,” he said quickly.

“What?” Pepper asked, taken aback. “Why?”

“Because he’s in danger. Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin, the guy that’s been bombing buildings in New York. He’s after Tony’s company. We tried to tell Tony, we thought he had believed us, but –.”

It was a testament to Pepper’s belief and understanding, and likely her long experience with Tony and the Avengers, that she didn’t even question Steve’s explanation. “Oh my God,” she said.

Steve started to speak again, to explain further, but Pepper had already pulled out her cell phone and was tapping madly away, before bringing it up to her ear.

They all waited, and Peter could hear the _bring, bring_ , of the phone as it rang. And rang. And rang again.

Finally Pepper lowered the phone back down, typing some more and instructing FRIDAY to get ahold of Tony however she was able.

A few, desperate minutes passed, until the reality of the situation finally became evident.

“He won’t pick up,” Pepper said, continuing to tap on her phone. “He won’t – the damn idiot won’t pick up, he’s not answering any of the pages, or texts, or –.”

The fear was evident in her voice, and unease showed on everyone’s faces as they realised what it meant.

There was a pause, a momentary silence, before Steve spoke. “All right then,” he said, straightening his back. “I guess we’re taking a trip to New York.”

Peter watched as everyone – as Steve, Clint, Natasha, and even Pepper moved as one, a quiet determination settling on their shoulders as they turned and started heading towards the elevator.

Peter stayed where he was.

As the group began to enter the elevator, Steve finally realised that Peter hadn’t joined them and he looked back, their eyes meeting.

Steve stepped back and started walking towards him, the doors closing as he left.

“Peter,” he said quietly, stopping in front of him. “You don’t have to come. The team and I are more than capable of handling this. We’re just going to go in there, get Tony, and bring him back. All right? So just – just stay here. You’ll be safe here. We’ll be back in a few hours, tops. Okay?”

Peter stared at Steve, not knowing what to say. Part of him instinctively wanted to go, to run after Tony, to save him from the Goblin. But the other half knew that saving people was no longer his place, especially not like this. And besides, Steve was right – he and the others were more than capable of handling this. The Goblin was dangerous, yes, but he would be nothing compared to Captain America and the Winter Soldier, against Hawkeye and the Black Widow, and –

Steve’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, his fingers warm as they squeezed him reassuringly. He gave Peter a small smile. “We’ll be fine, I promise. So just stay here, all right?”

Peter stared at Steve a moment longer, his eyes wide and his heart racing. Finally, he gave a shaky nod.

Steve’s smile broadened and he nodded in return, before finally letting Peter go. Without another word he headed towards the elevator, pressed the button, and walked inside.

Peter stared after him, watching as Steve gave him one last smile, before the doors closed and he disappeared.

Peter stood where he was for a few moments, saying nothing.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's not the most high-tense-action of chapters, but I can assure you, all that is about to come :)
> 
> I apologise again for the long break, to everyone who has been reading and following this story - but I thank you for waiting, and allowing me some time off :) I can't guarantee weekly updates, but the last few chapters should hopefully not take nearly as long to write as this one.
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos and comments - your support is what keeps me encouraged, and gives me the energy to keep going! Thank you <3


	19. Machinations of Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to everyone's amazing and generous comments - I am definitely going to try and do that more for the rest of the fic. I promise, I read and love and appreciate every single comment you guys give - I am constantly overwhelmed and blown over with your constant generosity and kindness. Thank you!!

Peter had wandered for a while after everyone left, not knowing where to go or what to do. He tried to go back to his room, but quickly found that no amount of pacing, sitting, or attempts at sleeping would take his mind off of what was happening in New York. So he continued wandering the halls and floors above and below, trying to think of anything except Tony and the Green Goblin.

It wasn’t until he reached a large room with white coats hung outside, did Peter realise that his feet had brought him all the way to the fifth floor – to Bruce’s lab.

He stopped, briefly hesitating, before he turned back round and started heading back towards the stairs. If he was lucky, maybe no one will have noticed –

“Peter?”

But of course, he was never lucky. In fact, he was quite sure Lady Luck didn’t even know he existed.

Peter took a deep breath, and turned round. He gave a tight lipped smile and a nod. “Hey, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce gave him a small smile in return, before walking towards him.

“You can call me Bruce, Peter. There’s no need for formalities.”

“O-okay.”

Bruce looked him up and down, and Peter could practically feel his eyes attempting to read him, trying to figure out what he was thinking and feeling. Peter tried not to glare.

“I heard about Tony,” Bruce said, his voice light, trying not to betray the gravity of the situation. “The guys will find him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Peter still didn’t know what he was feeling about the whole situation, so he didn’t say anything. As much as he wanted to believe that Tony was fine, that Steve and the rest of the team would find and take care of him if he wasn’t, he couldn’t ignore the inkling in the back of his mind, the whisper long the back of his neck, that said all would not be well.

Bruce stared at him, awaiting a response, and Peter gave him another small smile, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Thanks, Doctor – Bruce. Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be fine. I’m gonna… I’m just gonna go back to my room, now.”

Peter turned round, and for a moment there was a brief hope that he’d be able to make it to the stairs before Bruce had a chance to say anything.

But, as always, that hope was quickly dashed.

“Peter, wait!”

The words were like a vice on his legs and Peter halted, grinding his teeth. He listened as Bruce walked up behind him.

“Peter, I know I’ve been going on and on about this, and if you say you don’t want to do it, then I’ll accept that. But… but since you’re already here, and we have some time, do you think I’d be able to ask you some questions about… about what’s in your body? Maybe run some tests? I’m very… I’m very interested in what may be going on. I was thinking… I was thinking it might have something to do with this guy, Seftis, I think you called him? It may give us a clue as to why he came after you in the first place, why we all lost our memories of you, and… well….”

Peter’s fingers twitched and he fought to keep calm. He knew that it wasn’t Bruce’s fault that he was curious, anyone would be, but at the moment the last thing Peter wanted to do was sit down and talk about all his problems. It didn’t help that he barely knew what half of them were, anyway.

“I don’t want to do the tests,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice light, trying to hide the anger and annoyance that lay just beneath his skin. “I’d rather – I’d just rather be left alone, right now. Sorry.”

He could hear Bruce sigh, and knew that the man was disappointed in the answer. “All right. Thanks for visiting, Peter. It was nice to see you.”

Peter gave a quick nod and started walking back towards the stairs. Just as he was about to finally reach the door, Bruce’s voice rang out one more time.

“If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. Or just ask FRIDAY. Even if it’s the middle of the night, just feel free to wake me up, and –.”

Something in Peter snapped, and suddenly he was spinning around, fire spitting from his tongue before he even spoke.

“Why do you care?!” he shouted. “Why do you care about this so much?! This has nothing to do with you, it’s none of your business! So why do you keep going on and on about it? It’s not important! It’ the least important thing going on right now! There are so many other –.” Peter sucked in a breath, trying to push back his suddenly racing heart. “There are so many other more important things happening right now! Tony’s been captured by the Green Goblin, for fuck’s sake! We have no communication with him, and – and –.”

The surprise that had been on Bruce’s face faded away, his lips pressing together and eyes focusing into a serious stare. “Tony will be fine, Peter. There’s a whole swarm of Avengers going after him right now. They’re already probably in New York, and I’m sure we’ll hear from them shortly that everything’s good, that Tony is safe. So you don’t need to worry.”

Peter wanted to retort back, to say that his concern for Tony was not the reason he was so angry right now, but Bruce continued before he could get a word in.

“As for the tests, well… I guess I’m curious. It’s sort of in my DNA, figuratively speaking, to be interested in these things. In the unknown, the unexplained. When I see a mystery like this, I want to explain it. I want to know why it is the way it is. And the only way I know how to do that is to run tests, to ask questions. Form hypotheses, theories, that sort of thing. From what Steve and Bucky have told us about you, I think you should know what I mean.”

Bruce met Peter’s eyes. “Don’t you want to know, too? Don’t you want to know what’s in your chest, why there’s a mass of energy there, why you have a ‘second soul’, as you call it? Don’t you want to find out if it isn’t somehow connected to everything that’s been going on? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

There was a pause, followed by a beat, and then, “No,” Peter answered, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t care. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyways. What’s done is done. You can’t change what’s already happened, so who cares how it all began? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”

Peter turned back round and started walking determinedly back to the door, no longer wanting to stay and hear what Bruce had to say in response.

There was silence as he left, nothing but the sound of his footsteps echoing against the tiled-floor. He reached the door and placed his hand on the handle, ready to pull it open.

Then, Bruce’s quiet voice reached his ears.

“You know. You already know. You know what’s inside of you, what the energy is. You… you called it a ‘second soul’. Not because of its energy, or because you could feel it, but because… because there’s an _actual_ soul in your body, aside from your own. You don’t need the tests because… because you already know what’s going on.”

Peter found himself unable to move, his feet glued to the floor.

He wanted to argue, to say no, that he didn’t have a clue what was inside of him, he didn’t have a clue what was going on. And in a way, he didn’t. But in the ways that mattered, he did. And he couldn’t ignore or deny it, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to feign ignorance, he could no longer pretend that having another soul inside of him – the reason all of this started in the first place – wasn’t real.

“Peter,” Bruce said, his voice low. “Peter, tell me what’s going on. We can figure this out together. Just let me help you. Please.”

Peter’s hand clenched around the handle of the door. He thought about leaving, about wrenching the door open and running up the stairs and back to the safety and seclusion of his room, where no one could bother him and ask him questions that he didn’t know how to answer, that he didn’t want to answer. He would be alone. He would be safe.

But the other part of him, the one that had been growing stronger and stronger these past few months, said it was enough. He was tired of keeping everything to himself, of letting everything build inside of him until it eventually began to rot, and left him feeling like he was dying, too.

So he opened his mouth, and spoke.

“His name is Ascar,” he said. He let go of the handle and turned back round, looking Bruce in the eye. “I don’t – I don’t know what he is, or where he’s from, but… but during the fight with Seftis, and… and Mister Stark, he… he finally talked to me. Told me why Seftis had come after me, that it was because of him, and… and….”

“Come with me, Peter,” Bruce said, motioning to a nearby room. “Let’s sit down.”

* * *

Peter told him everything that had happened with Ascar, starting from the moment he first encountered him in Osborn’s lab, through his sudden propensity for setting things on fire, and ending with his conversation with the Being during the fight with Seftis. Bruce listened patiently, staring at Peter intently while he spoke, his eyes bright as he analyzed every word he said.

When he finished, Peter had expected Bruce to start questioning him about the energy, about Ascar’s soul; but instead, Bruce brought up something completely different.

“So you say you didn’t have biologically-based webbing before? What did you use? Some – some mechanism, that would shoot a web-like fluid, or –.”

“Web-shooters,” Peter interrupted. “They were… they were called web-shooters. They were strapped round my wrists.”

“And did Tony make them for you, or –.”

“I made them. I – I made a blueprint, long before I’d even met Mister Stark. All I had to do was find the right parts and just… just put them together. I made the web-fluid, too. I go – I went to Midtown Tech, so finding the right chemicals wasn’t hard to do.”

Bruce paused for a moment, staring at Peter, before he leant back in his chair with a small smile. “So you say it was after you were in Osborn’s lab that you found out you could shoot webs from your wrists, your actual wrists, is that right?”

Peter nodded.

“And that was never something you could do before?”

“No. I could never do that. I could stick to walls and my fear of heights was suddenly gone, but I’d never… as far as I’d known, I’d never been able to have webbing come out of my body.”

“Hmm.”

Bruce rubbed his chin, thinking.

After a moment, he asked, “Can I see it? Do you think you could just… shoot a web right now? Preferably somewhere non-destructive, if you don’t mind.”

Peter hesitated. In the chaos of the past few months, he still hadn’t truly done much testing of the bio-webs himself, as he’d begun to call them. Aside from a few nights of hanging upside down in the attic, he hadn’t exactly taken them out for testing. He couldn’t – not if he didn’t want to get caught by the Avengers or the authorities, or worse – by someone’s phone.

But here in the lab, secure and alone, they were safe. And really, in the end, what did it hurt?

“All right,” Peter finally said. “But I don’t – I still don’t know much about them. Haven’t had the chance to… to really study how they work.”

“Well then I’d say this is the best time to test it out, don’t you?”

Managing a half-smile, Peter nodded his head.

Raising his right arm, Peter looked round for a moment, before aiming his hand towards the door. Resting his index and middle finger against the base of his wrist, he pushed.

Webbing shot out and hit the door with a smack, and on instinct Peter grabbed the end and pulled it taut. He glanced to his right.

Bruce’s eyes were wide, an awe and excitement within them that reminded Peter of a child seeing flaming birthday-candles for the first time.

“Why, that is… this is….” Bruce stood and took hold of the web, running it along his fingers as he examined its structure. He continued to study it for a few moments, before looking back to Peter. “This is amazing, Peter! It – it’s actual webbing, like one from an arachnid, I’m positive! Except – except the tensile strength is _astounding_ , and that it’s still staying on the door is – is –.”

Peter watched as Bruce continued to geek out over the web, and he couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his lips at Bruce’s unrestrained excitement.

Bruce continued to mutter and hypothesize for the next few minutes, and Peter simply sat back and watched.

Eventually Bruce took Peter’s arm in his hand and proceeded to study his veins. He was able to find a vein that was different from the others – and hello, Peter hadn’t noticed that before – and figured that that was where the web-fluid came from. Peter couldn’t help but wonder at Bruce’s ability to discover these things so quickly; clearly he wasn’t a renowned scientist for nothing.

After a while Bruce’s excitement calmed down, and the two were left quietly discussing different tests they could run to see just how far the bio-webs could go. Peter would never go through with it, of course, he wouldn’t be here that long. But it was fun to imagine.

Eventually their conversation fell into a lull, and Peter wondered if it was time to leave. He wanted to know how Steve and the team were doing, if Tony had been found, and he figured that the best person to ask that question to was Pepper Potts herself – as frightening a prospect as that may be.

But before he could even make to stand, Bruce began to speak.

“Peter,” he said quietly. “You said – you said this guy’s name was… was Ascar, is that right? The one you believe is in your chest right now?”

Peter stared at Bruce for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what he called himself. Ascar.”

Bruce frowned and looked away, as though he were thinking. An unease prickled the back of Peter’s neck, and he began to frown, too.

“What?” he asked after a moment, when Bruce didn’t continue. “What is it?”

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing. At least, at least I don’t… I don’t think it’s anything. That is, I’m not – I’m not sure.”

Peter’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about, Doctor Banner?”

Instead of correcting him on the formal address as he thought he would, Bruce instead looked up at Peter, his eyes meeting with a troubling gaze.

“You… if you knew us – if you knew me – before, then you would know… you would know what happened to me after… after the battle with Ultron?”

“You were stuck on the planet Sakaar,” Peter responded, his brows furrowed in bemusement. “You were there for two years before you came back, right before… right before Thanos, and –.”

“Right,” Bruce said quickly. “That’s right. Well, you see… now I don’t know if this means anything, this could be completely wrong, this could have nothing to do with anything. I don’t – I may not even be remembering it right, and –.”

“Doctor Banner,” Peter interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

Bruce gave a heavy sigh, then took a breath. “I don’t remember everything about Sakaar, I was the Hulk for nearly my entire time there. When things got crazy, I… I find it difficult to access those memories. But when things were calm, when we weren’t fighting or upset, then I… I can remember things better. Conversations. What was going on in the rest of the universe, or….”

Seeing Peter’s waiting eyes, Bruce finally swallowed and continued. “I think… I think I may have heard that name before. Ascar. It wasn’t… it wasn’t anyone I knew, or anything. But there was one night… there was one night where people were talking, and they were saying that – that there were rumours that someone named Ascar had recently died. From the way they talked, he seemed like a pretty big deal, so not everyone believed them, but….”

“Did they say who he was?” Peter asked. “Or – or what he was?”

Bruce took another breath. “They called him a _Watcher_. Now, I don’t exactly know what that means, but they said the name with… with something almost like reverence. Like it was a big deal. I think it must be some kind of race, some kind of species. But that’s… that’s all I know. Some said it was impossible that a Watcher could die, but others said it was true. They only talked about it for a few nights, and I’m still not sure if I’m even remembering everything correctly, but –.”

“A Watcher,” Peter repeated, sitting back in his chair.

A Watcher. What the hell was a Watcher? Was it something important? Something – something powerful? And if it were those things, then what the hell was it doing inside Peter’s body, dead or not?

“Did he tell you anything?” Bruce asked. “Did he give you any clues as to what he may be, or –.”

“He said he’d died, that he’d been killed, but that before Seftis could take his soul or his… his essence, his power – he said he had to find a vessel. And that he chose… he chose me, for whatever stupid reason. He said that because I’m now his vessel, I can’t be killed. Though I don’t know how that could possibly work, or –.”

“A spell of protection,” Bruce interjected, thinking out loud. “I heard… when I was on Sakaar, I heard a lot of crazy stuff that can happen. They say a spell of protection is when someone dies, and they leave their – their _essence_ , or their power, over another. Practically giving them immortality.”

“What,” Peter said, shaking his head incredulously. “Like in _Harry Potter_?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to look confused. “What?”

But Peter was already far too gone. He continued to shake his head, his eyes wide, unable to believe what he was understanding. “Just like in Harry Potter. I’m – I’m freaking _Harry Potter_.” He shoved the base of his wrists into his eyes and groaned.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I think you’ve lost me. What is Harry Pott –.”

“Well if that’s the case, then the only thing I need is a time-turner. If you happen to have one, let me know. We might be spinning it a while to go back in time that far, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

“Peter –.”

“No, no really!” Peter was standing. When had he stood up? “Seriously, Doctor Banner, we can do it! We just have to find a broomstick and fly over to Hogwarts – or apparate, I’m old enough to apparate now – and then we’ll just have to find Professor McGonagall and ask her to give us her time-turner, and –.”

“Peter –.”

“And you don’t have to come back with me, in fact, it’s probably better if you stay here. I’ll just do it myself and go back in time, I’ll find a way to stop Seftis before he shows up or – or if worse comes to worse, I’ll just kill myself – my old self, that is – because I’m sure I’ll be able to do that, Harry Potter was able to die and that’s how he was able to defeat Voldemort and –.”

“PETER!”

Peter’s voice cut off mid-sentence, and he was left staring at Bruce with wide eyes and heaving chest.

Bruce was staring at him warily, his hands held out cautiously in front of him, as though he were trying to calm down a wild horse.

“Peter, please, just – just sit down.”

After a few moments of staring, Peter sat.

Bruce tried again. “Look. I know these past couple years have been… hard, on you. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like. But how about we put a hold on freaking out until _after_ we fully understand what’s going on, okay?”

Peter took a deep breath, and said nothing.

Bruce continued. “Now I’m not claiming to be an expert in this, I don’t think I could ever be. But from the way they talked back on Sakaar, and from what you’ve told me so far, I think it’s safe to say that this soul – that Ascar – is what’s giving you these new powers. If he really was – is – a Watcher, then at the moment, you are currently housing a great power….”

Peter frowned, but before he could say anything, Bruce continued.

“The only question is, why you? If Ascar really did need a vessel in order to avoid being captured by Seftis, why did he choose you? Why would he give you, a kid from earth, his power? What makes you so special?”

The words had been spoken out of musings, more to himself than to Peter, but by then Peter had had enough.

The chair screeched against the floor as Peter stood to his feet. “I’m not special,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I don’t know why the hell this – this _Watcher_ guy would choose me as his vessel, because I’m – I’m the last person on earth – the last person in the _universe_ – who you would want to have your – your _mystical_ _powers_ , or whatever the hell they are. I don’t – I’m not special, I’m no one important, I’m – I’m _nothing_ , I –.”

Peter sucked in a shaky breath, and before he could say anything else he spun around on his heel and headed to the door.

“Peter,” Bruce called after him. “Peter, wait – Peter where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Miss Potts and see if they’ve found Mister Stark yet,” Peter answered, wrenching the door open. Before Bruce had any time to respond, Peter had ran into the stairwell and disappeared.

* * *

He hadn’t left to find Pepper, but the lie was neither here nor there. He’d simply needed to get away.

He decided to go back to wandering, rather than head to his apartment. Keeping his feet moving helped keep his mind moving, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit down and think. He’d already done far too much of that.

It wasn’t until the hallways began to look achingly familiar that Peter realised where he had ended up.

Tony’s floor. The one where his rooms were, and where his workshop was. The one that Peter had spent countless hours in, helping build prototypes and blueprints for thoughts and ideas that had never come to fruition. All of which now completely didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like Tony remembered them anyway.

He didn’t like this floor. In fact, he wanted off of this floor right now.

Perhaps he really should go find Pepper. It had been over an hour since the team had left, and surely they had heard from them by now.

He walked towards the door to the shop, fully intending to pass it by and head straight for the stairs on the other side of the hall. This was the last place he wanted to be right now.

But then, as he passed the doorway, his eye caught something amiss. He turned his head, then came to a stop, realising that rather than being closed firmly shut and guarded by hand-print-only entry, the door was instead propped fully open, the hand-pad unlocked.

He should keep going. Mister Stark hated having anyone other than Tony-approved people in his shop, he did everything in his power to make sure no one else came in. It was an invasion of privacy, a privacy that Tony so rarely ever got. And right now Peter was probably the last person he would ever allow into his personal space.

But something held his feet to the floor, keeping him from moving. Maybe it was the familiarity that the hallway and room brought, or maybe it was because he was seeing what had almost become a second home to him for the first time in two years, one he thought he would never see again. He didn’t know. But what he did know was that he couldn’t go in. Not now. He couldn’t go in anymore.

He shouldn’t go in anymore.

He inched forward, his mind urging his feet to start moving again. But somehow, no matter how much he knew he had to, he found he couldn’t walk away.

He shouldn’t go in there. Not now, not without permission.

Permission he would never get.

Peter swallowed, then licked his lips.

Maybe… maybe just for a little while. For less than a minute. Just ten, maybe twenty seconds. Nothing more. Just… just quickly pop in, to see if anything had changed, to see if Tony had made anything new while he’d been gone.

Just for a moment.

Slowly turning his heel, Peter walked inside.

Although everything else seemed to have changed in the last two years, somehow Tony’s workshop had remained almost exactly the same.

The same robots stood un-moving in their respective homes. The holo-table sat in the middle of the room, the same one that Peter had worked so many hours over, making adjustments to his suit and formulating ideas for more.

The lights were the same, the chairs were the same, the computers were even the same. The only thing different was that instead of having endless empty bags of chocolate bars lay strewn across the room, there now lay endless empty bags of chips. Pepper’s attempt at introducing healthy snacks hadn’t worked, it was plain to see.

Peter stepped forward until he was standing by Tony’s desk near the edge of the room. He wanted to sit down, to take in the moment that he would likely never have again, but he didn’t want to press his luck. He had already been here more than a minute, he was sure, and if he stayed any longer he was likely to be seen, and –

“Goodness. I leave for barely five minutes, and already we have an intruder. I guess that teaches me to close the door next time.”

Peter jumped and spun around, his eyes wide and heart racing. He had been so distracted by the workshop, he’d completely ignored the warning that had ran down the back of his neck, telling him that someone was coming.

Pepper stepped inside, her high-heels clacking against the floor, her one eyebrow raised as she met Peter’s eyes.

“I’m – I’m so sorry, Miss Potts, I – I didn’t – that is, the door was open, and so I – I thought I’d – I just wanted to – to see it, and – and –.”

“Okay okay, you can stop talking,” Pepper interrupted. She gave Peter a look, one that he had long since learned meant she was both amused and annoyed. “Sheesh, it’s like you think I’m going to claw your eyes out or something. Trust me, kid, I wouldn’t do that.” She gave him a small smile. “I’d simply make sure your business and all your assets would tank within the next year.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Pepper cut him off. “Relax, it’s a joke.”

Peter swallowed, trying to even out his breathing and slow down his heart. He needed to get out of here – he should never have even _come_ in here. Tony already hated him, he didn’t need another reason to hate him even more, and –

“I – I’ll just –.” Peter swallowed again, and started to move. “I’ll just go now. I’m sorry, I’m leaving. I’m sorry, I –.”

Peter walked by Pepper and towards the door, but was stopped by Pepper’s incredulous voice. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Peter halted, looking back at Pepper with furrowed brows. “I – I’m not supposed to be in here, so I – I’m leav –.”

“Nuh uh. Sorry kid, but you chose to walk into this mess, so you’re going to help clean it up.”

Now Peter was really confused. “What?”

A garbage bag was shoved into his hands, and he watched as Pepper walked away, another garbage bag in her own hands.

Suddenly Peter understood. Pepper actually wanted him to _clean_.

“Whenever Tony gets in one of his moods and decides to barricade himself in this place, he always leaves it looking like a dumptruck crashed and left its trash everywhere. And since Tony refuses to let anyone in here – even cleaning staff – that leaves me to be the one to pick up after his mess.”

Peter stared after her a moment longer, before slowly moving to pick up an empty bag of chips and drop it inside the bag.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, going around the room and picking up anything they could find. It was sort of funny; whenever he used to be around, both he and Tony were able to leave a pretty good mess in their wake. But Peter had to admit, this was pretty much the definition of a pigsty.

“Who are you to Tony?”

Peter paused what he was doing and looked up, watching Pepper’s back as she continued to clean.

“They told me about you; that you used to be part of our lives, but that some guy showed up two years ago and erased our memories of you. That you used to be an Avenger. I told Bruce that Tony would never approve of having a teenager as an Avenger, but he seemed pretty confident you were. Said that’s what Steve said, and if Captain America vouches for you, then who are we to disagree?”

Pepper scoffed. “They put the man too high-up on a pedestal, in my opinion. He isn’t God. He can lie just like the rest of us.”

She proceeded to move farther away, still not looking at Peter’s face.

“Because in my experience, and I mean no offense when I say this, but people tend to have a habit of lying in order to get Tony to trust them. They like to use him, use his resources; or use his influence, his money. They know that if they can pull just the right strings, press just right buttons, that they’ll be able to get him to do whatever they want. And Tony’s been burned more than once because of it.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Besides, he knew Pepper well enough to know that her endless stream of words – however suspicious and accusatory – were spoken more out of worry and desire to protect Tony, than out of malice or certainty.

Peter had always hated seeing her upset. She was usually so calm and composed, and though she expressed her concern and opinions very loudly, she could always handle whatever life had thrown at her. But when it came to Tony, and Tony’s well-being – well… Peter supposed everyone had an Achilles heel.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Peter said quietly. He knew it was dangerous to talk, that he was already in enough trouble as it was, but something in him urged him to comfort her, to at least give her a sense that everything would be all right, to take at least some of her fear and worry away.

Pepper paused what she was doing, and Peter continued. “Mister Stark is more than capable of handling Osborn. He’s already done it once before, and he has four Avengers on their way as backup. Osborn doesn’t stand a chance.” Peter gave a small smile. “And besides, he’s _Iron Man._ He’s invincible, right?”

Pepper stayed still for a moment longer, before moving back to life and continuing on, picking up the garbage that lay across the tables and floor. Peter figured he must have said something right, since he wasn’t being told to leave, and he continued to carry on with his own cleaning.

He moved on from one of the desks – _his_ old desk, actually – and continued down the line, all the while wondering how it was possible for Tony, at his age, to still eat so much junk.

Eventually he reached a small table and computer near the back, where, if the amount of empty food containers and chip bags were any indication, was the spot Tony had rooted himself to for his three days of solitude.

Taking handfuls at a time, Peter began to clear the table off. After a few moments he finally reached the bottom of the pile. He picked up the last remnants of wrappers and food – stale, leftover Chinese, yummy – his hand brushing against the papers that lay beneath. In his attempts to brush off some old crumbs, he accidentally brushed the papers off the table with them, sending them floating to the ground. He quickly picked them up, setting them back on the desk.

Something caught his eye.

Pepper’s voice rang out across the room.

“Tony sleep talks, you know. When he’s stressed. It’s the worst, being woken up at three in the morning, hearing your husband talking to you and you ask him what’s wrong, and you even have a conversation, only to find out he’s been sleeping the entire time. And then he wakes up, and gets mad at you for waking him up. The joys of marriage.”

There was colour beneath one of the paper, bright colours. Familiar colours. Colours of red.

Peter pulled the paper further out from beneath the pile.

Colours of red and blue.

“Well, anyway. He never used to talk in his sleep, at least not often. But over… over the past few years, he… he’s started to talk more. I’ve stopped answering him, I just turn back over and let him be. But I hear him, I hear what he says.”

Peter’s heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. The paper rattled as he lifted it up, his hand shaking.

“I used to think it was because he wanted a family. We’ve talked about it, and for a while I thought he really wanted one. Three kids, that was our number. He wanted them to have the siblings he never had. But whenever I ask him if it’s time, he always says no.”

It was a picture of him. But not him as he was, him as… as _Spider-Man_. It was hand-drawn, coloured in with red and blue ink. He was wearing the suit Tony had first given him, the one he’d worn in Germany, the one that had been taken away before Homecoming.

His heart was racing.

“But when he talks in his sleep, he’s always talking to the same person. It took me a while to figure it out, but he’d always call this person ‘kid’, or… or _underoos_. He spoke like… well, like a father speaks to his son. One minute he’s upset with him, the next he’s encouraging him to do something he probably shouldn’t do, like… like he’s proud of him.”

Tony… Tony had drawn a picture of him. He’d drawn a picture of _Spider-Man_.

Peter’s chest constricted, and he couldn’t breathe.

“There’s been one other name he’s called this person. I thought it was the weirdest name. I mean, why would anyone call themselves that, but… but then Bruce said that your Avenger name was… that it was _Spider-Man._ I – I didn’t believe him at first, but no one else knows that name except me. So… so I….”

But Tony didn’t remember him. He hated him. So why… so how was this picture in his hand, how was this even _poss_ _ible_ –

“So I’ll ask you again,” Pepper said, turning round to face him. “Who are you to my husband?”

There was a click, then a whirl, and something popped up on one of the computers that sat a few feet away. Peter looked up, his eyes wide as they read the message relayed on the screen.

_Incoming video call._

Pepper stopped what she was doing and walked over, staring at the computer with a frown. “That’s odd. It doesn’t list a sender.”

Pepper glanced briefly at Peter, then turned back and accepted the call.

The screen expanded, and the video began to play.

The smiling face that greeted him sent a chill down his spine, and Peter’s body turned to ice.

“ _Hello my dears. It’s so nice to see the both of you again.”_

Norman Osborn.

He was in a conference room, standing in front of a long table surrounded by chairs.

Tony, tied up and unconscious, sat at the back.

Pepper’s eyes widened and her hands flew over her mouth as she shouted in fright. “Tony!”

“ _Pepper, my dear, while it’s always a pleasure to speak with you, I’m afraid this message is meant for Mister Parker.”_

Somehow Norman’s eyes found Peter’s, and it took everything Peter had to not throw the entire computer across the room.

Osborn’s eyes crinkled as his lips pulled into a smile.

“ _Since your lovely Miss Potts is already trying to record this, let us get to the chase. I have a one-time, special offer for you Mister Parker. You see, you have something that I want. And I think you know exactly what it is.”_

Pepper looked at him, but Peter ignored her, his teeth clenching in his jaw as his fists trembled at his sides.

Osborn continued. _“Now I have your precious Mister Stark here, all ready and waiting to die. His head is on the guillotine, and you, my boy, are_ _his executioner._ _”_

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he bit his tongue.

Osborn clapped his hands. _“So I think it’s easy to say that you already know the choice you need to make. Either you come to the warehouse you already ran away from once, and give me what you have, or you let_ _the blade fall._ _And if that happens,_ _well…_ _let’s just say Iron Man won’t need his helmet anymore.”_

Osborn’s smile suddenly fell from his face, his eyes going dark as he stepped back from the camera.

“ _You have one hour. Godspeed, Spider-Man.”_

The video went dark, and the screen disappeared as the call ended.

The room was blanketed in silence.

Finally broken from the spell, Pepper immediately picked up her phone and began punching in numbers. The calls rang, and rang, and rang more, but no one picked up.

“They’re not – they’re not answering,” she muttered, trying again. She was obviously calling Steve and the rest of the team, but to no avail. “Damn it, why aren’t they answering?!”

Peter stepped back, bumping into one of the chairs and sending it tumbling over to the floor with a crash.

“We need – FRIDAY, get Bruce Banner up here, _now!_ ”

Peter sat down against one of the desks, his hands gripping the metal frame tightly beneath his fingers.

Only five minutes had passed, filled with Pepper’s constant pacing and trying to get a-hold of Steve or Clint or _anyone_ , each attempt ending with a shout and a curse. Less than two minutes later the elevator in the hallway dinged, and an out-of-breath Bruce came running into the room.

“Pepper, what is it?! What’s happened?! FRIDAY said it was a code red, and –.”

Pepper relayed all that had happened, and by the end Bruce’s eyes were as wide as theirs.

“Are you sure you can’t call them?!” he asked.

“I’ve tried, Bruce! I’ve tried over and over and over, but we haven’t had contact with them now for thirty minutes! The last we heard they’d just reached New York!”

“But one of their signals must be on, surely FRIDAY can find them and –.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?!” Pepper shouted. “I’ve tried everything! Their signals might as well be dead! I can’t find any trace of them, none of them will answer my calls, even the _jet_ isn’t responding –.”

“Well there has to be something, we can’t –.”

“We – we’ll have to go down there. One of us will have to go down to the tower, talk to Osborn himself, negotiate some kind of deal –.”

“‘One of us?’ Pepper, there’s no way in hell you’re going to that tower! I will be the one to go, you stay here –.”

“Like hell you will! I’ll wear one of the suits – I’ve worn them before, I’ve fought in them before. Someone needs to stay and guard the compound, and –.”

“No. No way, Pep. That is not happening. I will go down there, I’ll go with a suit, and if I have to I’ll – I’ll even see if the big guy can –.”

“No, you can’t, you –.”

“Yes, I can!”

“No! You need to stay here, I’m the CEO, this is a business deal, I will take care of this. I –.”

“I’m going.”

“I’m sorry Pepper, but there’s no room for discussion. I’m going, and that’s final.”

“I’m going to go.”

“And _I’m_ sorry Bruce, but this compound is headed by Stark Industries, and as CEO I will –.”

“ _I’m going to go!_ ”

Pepper and Bruce’s tongues finally stopped talking and both looked over at Peter, who was now standing, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

_I will do it. I will take the ring to Mordor._

Except instead of going to destroy the ring, he was going to hand it straight to Sauron himself.

Bruce’s face fell, and the older man shook his head.

“Peter, no. You can’t –.”

“Osborn wants me to go. He was talking to _me_. I’m the only one that has what he wants. And no amount of fighting or negotiating is going to make him change his mind.”

And it was true. No matter how much he wanted to let Bruce deal with it, no matter how much he wanted to believe that Pepper could negotiate her way out of this, the reality was that the only person that could do anything, was him.

“No, Peter,” Pepper said. “You can’t – you’re not going. He’s lying. How could you even possibly have anything Norman Osborn wants?!”

Peter turned to Bruce, staring him straight in the eye. “I’m the only one that can do this. You know that.”

Pepper looked at Bruce, and seeing his resolve waver, began to argue more. But neither Peter nor Bruce listened to her.

“I’ll go with you then,” Bruce argued.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “Someone needs to stay and guard the compound. I’m going, and I’m going alone.”

A fire that Peter hadn’t truly felt in over two years sparked within his chest, and resolve fell over him as he knew this was the only road they could take. That this was the only way to save Tony’s life.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh, and Pepper looked like she wanted to argue some more, but neither of them said anything. Because whether they liked it or not, there was no other choice.

“I’ll get one of the jets going,” Bruce said. “And you’re taking a radio with you. And so help me, if you go into radio silence, I’ll come after you myself – compound and Stark Industries be damned.”

* * *

It was dark out by now, the sun having set just a short time ago. They had less than forty-five minutes to get Peter to New York and into the building Osborn had spoken of.

Peter knew which warehouse he was talking about. Though he had paid almost no attention when running from Osborn’s lab, he’d known that the labs were part of a greater warehouse that connected to Oscorp Tower. He knew without a doubt that that was where Tony was being held, and where Osborn wanted him to come.

He sat on the jet, watching as the clouds flew past his window, their edges reflecting off the moonlight that shone through the dark sky. Normally it would take an hour to fly to New York, but with one of Tony’s jets, it would take less than half that time. All he had to do was wait.

He was wearing all black; a tight-black shirt, black pants, and a black mask. They were stealth clothing meant for Clint or one of the other Avengers, but they fit Peter well, and they were the only way he’d be able to make it into the building without being seen.

And the only way he’d be able to fall from the sky without being noticed.

Bruce had planned on having the plane land to drop him off inside the city, but Peter knew that plan would take too long, and held too-high of a risk of alerting others to their presence, no matter how good Tony’s invisibility-tech was.

Peter watched as the jet flew over the city, his eyes taking in every building and landmark that lay beneath him, the moon’s light more than enough for his eyes to see by.

He continued to watch as they flew, as they got nearer and nearer and nearer, and –

_There._

Standing to his feet, Peter grabbed hold of the switch at the back of the plane, turning it, and waited as the door began to lower. The wind slammed into him and whipping around his body, nearly sucking him out. Once it was lowered, he began walking towards the edge.

“ _Peter, what are you doing?!”_ Bruce’s voice shouted in his ear. _“You need to wait for the jet to land, you can’t –.”_

“I’ll be fine,” Peter replied, pulling the mask over his face.

“ _Peter, you don’t have a parachute!”_ Pepper’s voice was panicked. _“You need to have a parachute! How else are you going to land –.”_

“I’ll be fine, Miss Potts,” Peter said nonchalantly. “I promise, I’m going to bring Mister Stark back. Just focus on finding Steve and the others. Don’t worry about me.”

“ _Of course I’m going to worry about you, Peter! You’re just a kid, you’re –.”_

“I’m eighteen now, Miss Potts. Legal in Canada and all the states except for three. And definitely legal to jump out of airplanes.”

“ _Peter, don’t you dare –.”_

“Talk to you on the ground, Miss Potts.”

And without any more further ado, Peter stepped off the edge and fell face-first into the air.

Falling in the darkness felt an awful lot like flying through the streets of New York on his webs. It was a sensation he hadn’t known he’d missed, and for the moment he let the air whip across his face and around his body, and simply breathed.

He watched as one of the many skyscrapers came into view, counting down the seconds in his head. When he reached zero, he held out his hand and shot a web, watching as it flew through the air and latched against the building’s concrete side.

He immediately was snapped to the right, and soon he was soaring down in the familiar arc that he had once known like the back of his hand.

He felt himself swing upwards, and he quickly reached out his other hand and snapped another web.

The webs looked and acted so similar to the ones he’d made with the web-shooters, but they felt completely different. He could feel them shooting from inside his arms, running down along his veins and breaking out through his wrists. They oddly felt more secure than his web-shooters had, even though he had never once felt unsafe with the latter. But these… these _bio-webs_ , they were a part of him, and Peter could feel where they were, could feel the cold metal that they stuck against as they carried him where he wanted to go.

He continued swinging and running along the edges and tops of buildings, until at last he swung onto the edge of a rooftop, and came to an abrupt halt.

He crouched on the ledge in the shadows, his eyes scanning the buildings and roads below.

Oscorp Tower stood only a block away, the warehouse and labs sitting right beside it.

“I won’t be able to talk to you for a while,” Peter said, checking his watch. He had fifteen minutes left. More than enough time to get in and out.

“ _All right, but you know the code-word if you have any trouble. We’ll be listening.”_

Adjusting the mask around his neck, Peter stood his feet. Then without a second thought he took a deep breath, and jumped.

He shot out a web and landed on Oscorp Tower. He quickly let the web go and proceeded to crawl quickly down the side, until he was able to jump over to the roof of the warehouse. He landed silently, and proceeded to make his way through a broken window until he was inside.

He kept to the ceiling, scurrying over the beams and fixtures, being careful not to hit anything or make any noise.

As he neared the centre of the room, the sounds of voices reached his ears.

“ _You know Norman, I have to say – the green look? Not your best colour. And the goblin design is_ terrible _. If you were wanting to make a good costume, you should have come to me! I’d only charge a small fee, and you’d be the best looking villain in the city! I’d still kick your ass, but at least you’d go out looking good.”_

Tony.

Relief poured through Peter, and he took a deep breath. Tony was alive, and from the sounds of it, he was safe. At least for the moment.

Peter couldn’t hear Osborn’s reply – it was too muffled – but it didn’t matter, as in the next moment he’d passed the final beam and arrived into the middle of the warehouse.

The only light came from a small spotlight on the floor, which filled the bottom of the room in an orange glow. Tony was sitting against the wall, his hands tied around his back and feet zip-tied together in front of him. Norman was standing on the other side of the room, looking annoyed. For once Peter was thankful that he wasn’t the only person able to piss people off.

Osborn’s phone rang and he brought it to his ear, talking loudly and angrily to whomever was on the other line.

He had to move now.

Crawling upside down on the ceiling, Peter made his way through the shadows until he reached the wall. Without hesitating, he shot a web silently against the ceiling and began lowering himself down, until he met the edge of the shadows, Tony sitting only a few yards directly below him.

With a quick glance towards Osborn, who was still turned facing the other direction, his phone pressed angrily against his ear, Peter took a deep breath, and jumped.

It happened in seconds. One moment he was in the air, the next he was at Tony’s side, his feet landing silently on the ground, his hands immediately wrapping around Tony’s shoulder and covering his mouth.

Tony gave an aborted shout and a start, and Peter quickly shoved his mouth against his ear.

“It’s Peter,” he whispered.

Tony glanced back, taking one look at Peter’s masked face, and promptly shut up. Without giving him any more chance to move or speak, Peter gripped Tony tightly in his arm, and pulled on the web, jumping them both into the air and towards the ceiling.

Peter’s grip was like iron, refusing to let Tony go, no matter how awkward and painful the hold was. Tony, thankfully, understood at least something of what was happening, and he quickly grabbed onto Peter as best he could.

Peter proceeded to crawl over the ceiling once more, heading back the way he came. It wouldn’t be long, twenty seconds at the most, thirty, maybe, with Tony – he just had to get there before Osborn finished his call, and –

The faint whirring of motors and engines reached his ears, and Peter froze. A moment later Osborn was rising up in front of him, sans suit, standing on his glider, a large smirk pulled across his face.

“Peter, Peter, Peter…. Did you really think you could fool me?”

Peter moved fast; within a snap he’d already webbed Tony to the ground and was coiling his body, ready to spring forward, ready to attack, when smoke – gas, it was a gas – clouded his vision, and he was suddenly coughing for breath.

Osborn’s grin widened as Peter’s vision began to fade.

“I’ll see you shortly, _Spider-Man_.”

Peter’s muscles weakened and he felt the sensation of falling, before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter - I had a lot of fun writing it, and finally managed to get some scenes onto paper (or computer, rather) that have been circling in my head for a while. Danny Elfman's scores for the original Spider-Mans have been a huge help and push in all my writings for this fic, and definitely helped this time around.
> 
> I would love to hear from you. Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo - your support has kept me going throughout this story, and I can never thank you enough for it.


	20. Felix Culpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all still have your tea and coffee? Maybe some snacks? Because this is another long one.
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing and wonderful support - a writer couldn't want any better readers than you!
> 
> Also: some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from the first Spider-Man movie, so all rights reserved to them, and all that jazz.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

“ _Wake up, little spider. Wake up.”_

Peter could feel awareness spreading over him, the blanket of sleep unraveling as a deep voice trickled through his ears. He tried to move, but nearly all his muscles refused to cooperate. He was able to manage the barest turn of his head, and the smallest twitch of his shoulders. But aside from that, he was frozen.

But why couldn’t he move? How was he – why – was he… was he –

“ _No, you’re not dead, yet. Just paralyzed. Temporarily.”_

Panic crashed through him like a tsunami of fire, and his eyes flashed open.

Everything was dark, at first. His vision was clouded, only able to make out the milky images of black, white, and yellow. After a few moments of rapid blinking, the images coalesced until he realised that he was seeing the black of the night, the white of the snow, and the brightness of a light that hung above a rooftop door.

And the yellow of large, narrowed eyes.

Norman Osborn.

_The Green Goblin._

And suddenly, everything came into sharp and horrifying focus.

“You’re an amazing creature, Spider-Man,” the Goblin said. He was standing in front of him, looking down at him. “You and I are not so different.”

Peter tried to move his arms, but nothing happened. His hair spilled over his face, his mask laying discarded at his side.

He glared. “I’m nothing like you,” he spat. “You’re a murderer. You’re working with a psycho who’s trying to get rid of the Avengers, who’s trying to… to make the world his slaves, and –”

He was speaking before he even knew what he was saying, but as he did, realisation began to dawn.

Ascar had told him that Seftis was seeking power, but not just power – a throne from which he could rule. From which he could rule an entire world.

And suddenly, just like that, everything made sense.

Cold water ran down Peter’s spine, and he glared. “He wants to get rid of the Avengers so that he can rule Earth. And you’re – you’re helping him. You’re fucking _helping_ him, and –.”

“Ah ah ah,” the Goblin chided. “Language, my dear boy, language.” He crouched down, cocking his head to the side as he stared at Peter. “I have a son around your age; and do you know what I do when he likes to run his mouth?” He raised his hand, whipping it back as though he were about to strike.

Peter flinched and the Goblin froze, before slowly bringing his hand down. “But you’re not my son. No, you’re someone else’s son, aren’t you?” He raised his head, looking past Peter’s shoulder. “The _Invincible Iron Man_.”

Osborn looked back at him, and even though the mask covered his face, Peter could practically _feel_ the man’s smile. “I knew you would come for him. Perhaps faster than any other of the Avengers; or at least with the most urgency. You have far more to lose, if you lost him, don’t you?”

It was then that Peter suddenly remembered that he wasn’t alone, that he hadn’t ended up on this roof in the dark by himself. He tried to move, straining his head as far to the side as he could, but he was only able to make out the barest hint of Tony’s face, which was at that moment only just starting to wake.

Tony came to his senses faster than Peter would have thought, as seconds later he could hear his groggy voice behind him.

“Let ‘im go, Osborn. Whatev’r your issu’ is, you take it up wit’ me.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” the Goblin said, still crouching in front of Peter. “But I’m afraid you’re wrong in this instance. You see, your little friend _Spider-Man_ , here, has something of quite high value that I want.” He suddenly grabbed Peter’s face, his metal hands squeezing his jaw and throat painfully together. “And he’s going to give it to me, whether he wants to or not.”

The Goblin wrenched his hand away and Peter coughed, his ears ringing as Tony continued to speak.

“He has noth’ng! He’s just a kid! He’s just –.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You see, Spider-Man here – or as you know him: unassuming, homeless Peter Parker – he’s playing host to a very important creature. One that can give power _unimaginable_ to the one who wields it.”

He stood back to his feet and walked towards Tony, and out of Peter’s view. But not out of earshot.

“A man such as yourself, Stark, must know a lot about the universe beyond our mere little Earth, do you not? But in all your time spent traveling in space and the great beyond, have you happened to ever come across the beings known as Watchers? No? Well let me educate you – they are some of the most powerful creatures in the known universe. And your little Peter Parker here, has one right in his sticky little grip. And he’s going to give it to me.”

The Goblin walked round until he was facing Peter once more, his manic grin and vivid yellow eyes staring straight into Peter’s own.

A cool, tingling sensation ran down half of Peter’s spine, and muscles in his arms that hadn’t moved before, twitched. He could feel the effects of the paralysis slowly wearing off, likely much faster than Osborn had anticipated. All Peter had to do was buy time.

“Does Seftis know you’re doing this?” he asked, glaring at the older man. “Or is he the one who sent you after me in the first place?”

The brief hesitation in the Goblin’s movements was all the answer Peter needed, and he smirked. “So he doesn’t know, then. So while he’s busy getting rid of the Avengers so he can take over Earth, you’re here trying to steal the soul of a Watcher, all for yourself. Somehow, I don’t think your boss would appreciate your betrayal.”

“My deal with him is none of your concern,” the Goblin spat back. He jerked away, as though angry, before suddenly calming, his movements easing once more. “But the fact remains, that I want what you have. Though I must add, the process of removing the soul from your body will likely kill you.”

He leaned back against one of the many large vents that were scattered across the rooftop, crossing his arms as though he were having nothing more than a friendly chat.

“So I have a proposition for you. If you choose to come with me, to join me – I won’t kill you. I can teach you about the power that you have – I can teach you how to wield it, how to kill with it. I’ll even ask our mutual friend to spare your life, once he’s taken control of this world. You can fight for us – you can fight _with_ us. Imagine what we could accomplish together, what we could create, or what we could destroy.” He tilted his head back with a hum. “Or, you can give us the Watcher’s soul and die along with it. So – what will it be?”

Peter glared, and a moment later he spat at the Goblin, his voice vicious and low as he spoke. “Go to hell. You obviously don’t know anything about me, if you think I’d ever join you. I’d far sooner die than help you – no matter what stupid power you think I have.”

The Goblin stared at him for a long moment, no one saying a word, nothing to be heard except for the falling of the snow.

Finally, after what felt like an age, the Goblin spoke.

“Well then. To each his own.” He stepped forward, walking towards Peter until he was looming over him, his shadow blocking out the light from the rooftop door. “I’ve chosen my path, and you’ve chosen the way of the _hero_.”

He crouched down once more, but this time he was closer than before, the metal of his mask nearly touching Peter’s face. “And what a hero you would have become. Even greater and more beloved than your dear _Invincible Iron Man._ And what great things you would have done, too.”

Something in the way he spoke made Peter frown, and the Goblin must have seen it, as he suddenly pulled back, humming approvingly.

“Ah, yes. You have a great future ahead of you, my dear boy. How many great villains you’ll fight, how many great battles you will win, how great a figure and great a hero you will become. I’ve seen it, you know.

“When our mutual friend first asked me for my help in defeating the Avengers, he showed me your future – showed me exactly why you were someone I should take interest in. I was able to see just exactly what kind of man – what kind of _hero_ – you will be. And oh my, I don’t think even your dear Tony Stark himself could have imagined just exactly who he has beside him; the _legend_ that you will one day become.”

Peter swallowed, unable to say or do anything, except continue to look the Goblin squarely back in the eye.

The Goblin shot back to his feet.

“But you will have many great failures, too. There will be countless people that die when they could have lived, villains that could have been redeemed but instead were killed, and killed by _your_ hand.”

The Goblin tilted his head again, and somehow Peter knew he was smiling. “And the people. Oh, the people. They’ll find you amusing, for a while, the people of this city. Perhaps they’ll even love you. But the one thing they love more than a hero, is to see a hero fail, fall – to die trying. In spite of everything you’ve done for them, in spite of everything you will do – eventually they will hate you.

“So you must ask yourself – why bother? Why bother becoming this great and noble hero, enduring sufferings beyond your comprehension, only to have the very people you strive to save, turn their backs on you in the end? Not when you can give it all up now. Not when you can quit while your ahead, choose a different path. One that can ensure their love and admiration for all the years to come.”

Peter only glared at Osborn, his teeth grinding as his jaw clenched, not saying a single word.

Osborn heard his reply, anyway.

Standing one last time, the Goblin looked down at Peter, his voice no longer gentle and calm.

“So be it. You’ve chosen death, and so death it will be. Perhaps we’ll even execute you along with the others, and take your Watcher’s soul before all to see – that they may witness just how useless the Avengers truly are, and how great we’ve now become. That I –.”

_Bbring, bbring._

The Goblin broke off and Peter jerked, the sudden ringing sounding loudly in his ears. He looked round, wondering where the noise was coming from, when he suddenly heard Osborn’s voice, now muffled within the mask, but still loud enough to reach his enhanced ears.

“Osborn,” he said swiftly.

The voice on the other end of the call sent chills down Peter’s spine, and all the way to his toes.

“ _I need you at the tower, now. We are nearing the final preparations for the executions.”_

“I will be there shortly, O Great One.”

Peter nearly choked on his own spit, and it took everything within him to bite his tongue and not comment on the absolutely ridiculous – if not downright comical – moniker.

But sensation had almost fully returned to him, and he could now nearly move every single one of his fingers and toes. But he couldn’t let the Goblin know that, not yet.

The call clicked as it ended and the Goblin turned back to him, his voice switching in the speaker, until he could be heard outside of the mask once more.

“Well, it would seem that we have to cut our evening short. My humblest apologies, but I can assure you that we will continue our conversation later. For now, though, enjoy the view. I will have someone come to collect you soon.”

The sounds of whirring motors reached his ears and a moment later the glider appeared, and Osborn stepped on board. He gave one last glance towards Peter before flying and disappearing into the darkness.

Peter didn’t have time to think; he knew he needed to act now, and act fast.

Thick chains were wrapped around his arms and feet, and had the paralysis lasted for longer than it already had, they would have been impossible to break. But as always, people – including his enemies – underestimated just how strong he really was, and how fast his metabolism worked through drugs like paralysis.

So, just as he began to hear the echoes of footsteps two floors below him, he wrenched his arms open with a cry, and the metal shattered. He quickly ripped apart the chains around his feet, and in the next second he was falling over himself as he rushed round towards to Tony.

Tony was looking at him with wide eyes, his hands and feet also bound, and tape covering his mouth. The Goblin must have put it there when he’d gone back to talk to him.

Peter tore the tape away and quickly began snapping the zip-ties off.

“Peter,” Tony breathed out, and Peter could hear his heart racing a mile a minute. “Peter, you –.”

“Where’s your suit?” Peter interrupted.

“Osborn took it, and all my backups, too. The basta –.”

Peter slapped a hand over Tony’s mouth and stilled, listening as the sounds of footsteps started making their way up towards the last staircase before the rooftop door.

They had to leave now.

Except Tony was still half drugged-up. His movements were slow and sloppy, and instead of getting to his feet once he was free, he stayed where he was.

Carrying it was, then.

Just as Peter was leaning down and throwing Tony’s arm over his shoulder, the rooftop door opened and two men dressed in black stepped out. As soon as they saw Peter their motions jerked in surprise, and suddenly they were running towards him.

It happened fast. Peter quickly set Tony back down, and in the next second he was dodging a punch to the face, and then another, and then another. He twisted and turned for a few moments, ducked and dodged, before finally he had enough.

Grabbing the one man’s arm, he twisted it until it snapped, sending the man careening to the side, screaming in pain. He kicked his back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

The second man held back, attempting to circle Peter so that he could corner him, but the last thing Peter wanted was to draw the Goblin’s attention back to them, should he still be nearby. So rather than waiting for the man to attack, he instead held out his wrist, shot a web onto the guy’s face, pulled him forward, and promptly punched him across the head, sending him unconscious to the ground.

Peter quickly ran back to Tony, ignoring his wide eyes that now held a hint of shock along their edge, and effortlessly picked him up. At the last second he ran back and grabbed his mask off the floor, and then proceeded to hop onto the rooftop’s ledge. With one last glance at the unconscious guards, he turned back, tightened his grip on Tony’s side, and jumped off the roof.

* * *

They ran for a while, Tony stumbling as his movements slowly came back to him, Peter practically dragging him the entire way. He took them through twists and turns from alley to alley, until finally the pressure of his senses eased, and the alarm of danger began to abate.

Peter set Tony down on the snow, standing back up to take a moment to breathe. Tony was catching his own breath himself, and the two simply stayed in silence for a moment, nothing to be heard, their breaths dissipating in the cold air in front of them.

Finally, after a few minutes, Tony looked up.

“Well, that was quite the rescue.”

Peter gave a vague nod, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“So was everyone else out getting dinner, or did they wanted a break from the heroing? Figured they’d leave it to the younger genera –.”

“Seftis has them,” Peter interrupted. He was too tired to be goaded by Tony’s remarks. “They went to look for you, all of them, except Bruce. And I –.”

Peter stopped himself, suddenly remembering he had his mask – and the connected radio – in his hand. He quickly thumbed the balaclava open, and slipped it over his head.

Static.

He pressed the radio against his ear, tapping it, trying to get it to work, but there was nothing. He tried speaking, waiting to see if anyone would respond, but there was nothing – only silence.

He swore, taking the mask off and tinkering with it for a few moments, before finally giving up.

“Let me guess,” Tony said. “Mom and Dad aren’t answering the phone?”

“No,” Peter replied, still glaring at the small radio within the cloth, which he could now see was clearly broken.

“Well I’m afraid I didn’t bring my phone with me, left it in the car. So unless you happen to have one in your back pocket – which of course, you may, all teenagers seem to carry a dozen phones with them these days – otherwise, it looks like we’re outta luck.”

Peter shook his head, leaning back against the stone building’s wall. “We have to get a-hold of Bruce,” he said quietly. “If we’re out of contact for too long, he might do something stupid, and –.”

“Well we can’t have Bruce doing something stupid. When Bruce decides to do something stupid, he tends to do it in extremes.”

Tony was struggling to stand to his feet as he spoke, and Peter looked up, staring at him in bemusement before quickly rushing over to keep him from falling.

“Mister Stark, stop – you can’t – the paralysis hasn’t fully worn off, and –.”

“Well _you_ seem to be doing just fine,” Tony shot back. His legs began to waver and he was forced to grab onto Peter to stay standing, much to his annoyance.

“That’s because I’m not like you,” Peter said, trying to keep Tony stable. They stood for a few moments, trying to keep Tony upright, until at last he managed to stand still for more than ten seconds, and Peter hesitantly let go.

Tony stayed standing, but it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Which was good, because Peter needed time to think. They had to find a way to get back to the compound, back to Bruce and Pepper. They needed to re-group, needed to re-organize and make a plan for how they would save Steve and the rest of the team. They needed to figure out how to finally defeat Seftis and the Green Goblin.

“We need… we need to find someone,” Peter mused out loud. “Use their phone, or – or find a restaurant and use theirs. We need –.”

“Well in case you haven’t noticed, kid, it’s the middle of the night. All the restaurants are closed, so unless we find some good-willed Samaritan, which don’t really tend to exist in this city, I think we’re outta luck.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asked, unable to keep the aggravation from his tone. “Well what do you suggest then?”

“Easy,” Tony replied. “Stark Tower.”

Peter frowned. “I thought you sold Stark Tower.”

Tony gave him a brief, bemused look, before saying, “Yeah, well, I actually have a few towers around here, believe it or not. They’re just not all named after me. But for all intents and purposes, they are _all_ Stark Tower. But the one we need to get to actually does have my name on it – but they’re just the initials. S-T.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “So you basically just re-fitted the outside to make yourself look less egotistical?”

“Pretty much. They’re also good places to store emergency suits, should I somehow end up in the middle of the city, shall we say, naked.”

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead placed his focus back to the issue at hand. “Okay, fine then. We’ll go to Stark Tower.”

“Sounds like plan.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Wonderful.”

“Great.”

The two stared at each other for a few moments, and Peter was surprised to see a hint of a smile on Tony’s face. He was even more surprised to realise that there was a hint of a smile on his own, too.

But as the reality of the situation settled in, and he realised that it was Tony he was talking with, his smile slowly faded away.

Stepping back, Peter looked around for a few moments, before making his way over to one of the walls. Slipping his mask back on, he quickly began to climb.

“Hey,” Tony started, “what are you do –.”

“We have to find which way to go,” Peter responded, now nearly halfway up the side of the building. “And the fastest way to know is to figure out which direction Stark Tower is in.”

He reached the top of the building and quietly peeked over the edge, taking in the city’s skyline before him.

He scanned the buildings, his eyes raising and lowering and head slowly turning, as he followed the different shapes and sizes of the countless skyscrapers.

Finally, he spotted it.

 _There_.

It was standing tall amidst the other buildings, and though Peter had never paid any real attention to it before, it indeed had the brightly illuminated initials of S-T along the top.

Great. Well that was wonderful. They would be able to get to the tower, contact Bruce, and pick up a suit for Tony in the meantime. There couldn’t be a better result.

Except for the fact that it was on the other side of the city, and would take over an hour to walk there. And considering New York traffic, it likely would take just as long to drive.

_Shit._

Turning back round, Peter crawled down the side of the building until he reached the end, jumping down and landing on his feet with a flourish.

“That’s kinda creepy, you know that?” Tony commented, staring at Peter with slightly furrowed brows and unsettled eyes. “I mean, scaling a building is one thing – I’ve seen that plenty of times. But crawling upside down and every which way like gravity doesn’t even matter? That’s something else.”

“The tower is too far away,” Peter said, ignoring Tony’s comments on his climbing abilities. “It’ll take over an hour to get there. That’s too long.”

“So we’ll walk fast,” Tony replied with a shrug. “We both have working legs. We’ll just be walking with purpose.”

“ _I_ have working legs,” Peter interjected. “Yours are still questionable.”

“Hey now, mine work just fine, thanks.”

“Yeah? You want to bet on that? How about you try walking, then?”

Narrowing his eyes and tilting his head back, Tony gave Peter a hard stare for a few moments, before he straightened his back, pushed himself off the wall, and began to walk.

He stumbled at first, but quickly righted himself, and Peter let out an angry sigh as he watched Tony walk down the alley. He was slow and careful, but he was walking.

At least until he stumbled and nearly fell.

Biting back a groan, Peter quickly ran after him and ducked underneath his arm, wrapping his hand around his shoulder. Damn the stubbornness of Tony Stark.

“Fine,” he said, drawing up beside the older man. “But if you fall later, I’m not helping you up.”

“And you won’t need to,” Tony replied. “I may be old, but I’m not that far, yet.”

They neared the end of the alley, and Peter could see the lights of the street only a few meters away.

“If we find someone, we’re asking for their cellphone,” Peter stated as they drew near the end. “Steve and the others are in danger. We need to get to Bruce as soon as possible, and –.”

Peter’s words were cut off from his mouth, as they stepped out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk.

Snow. There was snow _everywhere_. Snow on the sidewalk, on the street, on the street-side verandas. The row of shops they’d walked into were all closed, lights off and doors shut, and over a foot and a half of snow at their feet.

Peter blinked. When… when had it snowed so much? And looking round, Peter realised that it was still snowing. Not just small, specks of white, but large, massive flakes that twirled lazily as they fell to the ground, piling on top of one another, building higher and higher. The air was thick with them, the flakes falling steadily but surely, distorting the area around them, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards in front of them. And there was no sign of it stopping.

“Well,” Tony commented, his voice light. “It looks like we won’t be finding anyone with a cellphone, anytime soon.”

Peter chose not to respond.

* * *

They walked together for about fifteen minutes, Tony’s arm over Peter’s shoulder and Peter’s arm wrapped around his back, until at last Tony shrugged him off, claiming he was now well enough to walk on his own. Peter let him go, but he never let his eye stray far. Whether he hated him or not, in end, it was still Mister Stark.

They’d made it over ten blocks towards the tower, when Peter noticed the shiver.

He’d been staring ahead of them, trying to think of nothing else except putting one foot in front of him – if he let his mind wander, he’d never get it back – when suddenly he all but felt Tony’s body shudder beside him.

He slowed, then frowned, taking in the way that Tony’s arms were wrapped around each other, his long-sleeved dress-shirt doing very little against he frigid December air. It was warm enough that the snowflakes were large, but the slight breeze that drifted around them still had enough bite that made you want to run indoors.

Peter hadn’t noticed it, of course. His enhanced body, while certainly not weather-proof, at least took a while longer to get cold than regular humans. He had been on his own for so long, he had almost forgotten just how different he was.

“You’re cold,” Peter commented, frowning at Tony disapprovingly for not having said so earlier. Though he of course wasn’t surprised, Tony was far more prideful than even him.

“I’m fine,” Tony dismissed, waving a hand. And Peter may have halfway believed him, had his hand not been shaking while it waved.

“You need a jacket,” Peter said, looking back round, as though warm winter clothing might suddenly pop out of the blue. “Or a sweater. We can’t keep walking if you’re going to be a popsicle by the time we get to the tower.”

They were in the dead-end of the city, where smaller merchants resided and no one actually lived. It would be a while yet until they reached a street that may have people on it, if any were even out at this time past midnight, in the middle of what seemed like a massive snowfall.

Which meant they needed to find something, and preferably soon. Luckily for Peter, scrounging through alleys and dumpsters for the necessities of life, had sort of become his thing.

The only question was, where would be the best place to look? Dumpsters were great for food, sure – but they weren’t exactly a place you’d find warm clothing. At least not commercial bins.

But residential, that was a different story. Peter had only dared a few times to rifle through someone’s personal trash, hoping that they weren’t at home or he wasn’t being seen by the neighbours. The risk was always far too high. Except right now it was the middle of the night, and everyone would be asleep. And the need was urgent.

So he just had to find a residential street. He was sure one had to be nearby, hey – maybe he could even knock on their door, and maybe they’d be willing to give him their cellphone or –

Something familiar caught Peter’s eye and his thoughts came to a halt.

That lamp-post… that storefront, this – this street, it… it all looked rather famil –

Peter’s eyes widened, as suddenly he knew exactly where he was.

They were in his area. His part of New York. They were on a street that he had begged on more than once, and many of whose merchants had been kind enough to offer him food, now and then. The attic – or what was left of it, anyways – was only a few streets down in the alley, and Julian’s restaurant was only a few more streets past that.

He was practically home.

The lights of the street lamps glowed softly amongst the snow, casting the snow-covered street in the same, warm glow that Peter had seen last winter; the same warm glow that fell over him whenever it began to rain, or when he sat alone on the street in the dark of the night, waiting for the sun to rise.

He wasn’t expecting the sudden lump in his throat to appear, or the sudden heat in his eyes that were beginning to sting. He didn’t know what he was feeling, he couldn’t explain any of it. He only knew that it had been months since he’d last been here, months since he’d even thought about this place. But somehow, in those months, in someway – he’d missed it. He had missed this place, had missed the routine of what had become the only dependable normalcy in his life. Everything had always stayed the same, no matter how crazy the day. Like clockwork.

“Hey kid?” Tony called. “You all right?”

Peter blinked, and he looked over to see Tony standing farther up the street, looking back at him with a raised brow and questioning eyes.

Peter stayed where he was for a few moments, continuing to stare, before his feet finally began to move and he made his way to Tony.

“What,” Tony asked as he came up beside him. “Is everything all right? Did you… did you see something, or –.”

“It’s nothing,” Peter quickly replied, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “I just… I was just….”

And suddenly it hit him, and Peter’s eyes widened.

The attic. The attic was destroyed, yes – but there was a compartment beneath the boards, one separate from where he kept his money. It held other important necessities, like canned-food and clothes, just in case if someone were ever to find the place and take everything they could see. He had learned early on that you had to prepare for everything and all possibilities, no matter how unlikely it seemed. And he was sure that somewhere in that stash, if it remained unburnt, there was a sweater and maybe even a jacket, too.

Peter all but ran forward, before veering into the alleyway halfway down the street.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Tony shouted. He almost half-expected Peter not to come back, but in the next second Peter was suddenly back beside him, wrapping his arm back around his side and all but dragging him through the snow and into the alley.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, if I had full-functioning legs right now, I’d give you a good kick in the ass. No one man-handles Tony Stark, do you understand? Especially when they don’t tell him where the hell they’re even goi –.”

Before he even realised what was happening, Tony found himself standing behind the remains of a burnt and partially collapsed building, a yellow line of tape laden with snow surrounding it, cautioning people to stay away. A caution that Peter was very manifestly ignoring.

Tony watched as Peter all but through himself on the wall, scaling it as though it were nothing, as though it wasn’t a flat, vertical surface covered in ice and snow.

Peter crawled through the now-empty space where part of the wall had once been, stepping foot into the place that had been his home for the last two years.

Everything was as he had left it when he’d last been here, with Steve. It was clear that a building that had already likely been on the chopping block for demolition was no further along that path, even though now part of it was already gone.

He wanted to look around, to take in the room that he had made his own, to breathe – but Tony’s loud-whisper of a voice sounded from below, and Peter was forced to turn his attention back down.

“Hey kid! Would you mind telling me what’s going on? I know that the head of Stark Industries doesn’t mean much to you, and seeing as I’m currently without a suit, Iron Man doesn’t mean much either – but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t leave me down here to get jumped by some random homeless guy looking for money, and –.”

Knowing he had to shut Tony up – and also tired of his complaining, if he were honest – Peter leaned over, held out his wrist, and shot down a web. After a few moments of protest and cajoling, Peter finally managed to get Tony to take hold, and within the next few seconds he’d quietly and quickly pulled Tony up into the attic.

Tony was mumbling something about safety and heights, but Peter wasn’t listening.

As much as he wanted to have a moment and simply take the room in, he knew he had to get moving fast. This was meant only to be a detour on their way to the tower, so that they could get Tony warmed up before they got the suit, and eventually found a way to free Steve and the others from Seftis.

Searching the floor, Peter counted the lines until he eventually found the right one. Crouching to his knees, he slipped his finger in the dip of one of the boards and lifted it up. His eyes met the untouched pile of clothing and food, and Peter couldn’t help but close his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

“So how did you know this was here?” Tony asked nonchalantly as Peter began rummaging through the crawlspace.

“I lived here,” Peter replied absently, moving the numerous bits of clothing around as he searched for a jacket or a sweater. Geez, for a homeless guy, he sure had a lot of stuff.

“Ah,” Tony replied. “And what a lovely place it is, too. It certainly has a nice… view. And the space, I mean – definitely more than enough for one person. Two might be a little cramped, but one… one is good. There’s a bit of a draft, I’ll admit, but hey – not every place can be perfect, am I right?” There was a pause, then, “And I suppose those lovely markings on the wall are just for decoration?”

Peter looked up, his eyes landing on the words still inscribed into the wall where the Goblin had last left them: _We’ll meet again, Spider-Man._

Peter grunted and returned to his search.

There was a moment of silence after that, but as always, Tony could never stay silent for long.

“So, this… this _Spider-Man_. That’s really you, huh?”

“Used to be,” Peter replied, not paying and real attention. Maybe he’d stuck the sweater at the very bottom, beneath the cans of food and water….

“‘ _Used to be’_. That sounds very definitive. Any reason why you decided to hang up the cape? From what Steve said, it sounds like the city could use someone like you.”

Peter reached down into the space – geez, how far did this go? – pushing past a pair of jeans to get to what he believed was a sweater down below. “Well having everyone forget you were a superhero in the first place, much less forget you even existed, kind of puts a damper on the whole saving the world, thing.” Ah – there. Finally.

“So because people forgot you used to save them, that’s why you decided you wouldn’t save them anymore? You just said ‘to hell with it’ and quit, just like that?”

Peter stilled, his ears finally hearing what Tony had said. He slowly pulled the jacket out from the crawlspace, turning round and looking at Tony with narrowed brows and dark, bemused eyes. “I’m sorry?” he said.

Tony was looking down at him, his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just saying, that if the only reason you were in the superhero business was for the recognition and fame, then I don’t think that’s a very good reason to be in it. Saving people is more than that. You have to be willing to give up everything for someone – even if it’s someone you don’t know. You have to be willing to die for them. And if the fame and recognition was already too hard to give up, then maybe it’s a good thing you hung up the suit.”

Whatever familiarity Peter had felt had returned between them, whatever friendly understanding had begun to exist, was instantly destroyed – and Peter suddenly found an anger and fury roiling in his chest that he wasn’t prepared for, and it took him a moment to swallow the words he wished to say back down, and keep his fists lowered at his sides.

“I already gave everything up,” he said, standing to his feet. “I gave up everything I had in order to protect everyone, in order to protect the people I cared about.” He walked forward, staring Tony straight in the eye as he spoke, his voice low. “But clearly that was a mistake.” He shoved the jacket into Tony’s arms, and walked away.

Peter stepped towards the edge of the crumbled wall, trying to stifle his anger and pack it away where the rest of all his anger had gone. He held his arms tight across his chest, trying to ignore the man standing a few feet behind him. The man opened his mouth and took a breath, and Peter was ready to intervene and tell him exactly what was on his mind, when suddenly a cold chill ran down the back of his neck, and his ears began to strain.

“Kid,” Tony began, but Peter immediately put his hand up, shushing him, and the man – thankfully – stopped talking.

There was the sound of tires crunching in the snow, the running motor of an engine. There were the opening of doors, followed by them being shut. He could hear footsteps, followed immediately by voices.

“ _Man, I don’t know what they think we’ll find out here. We’ve already scanned the perimeter around the warehouse, whoever those guys were, they’re long gone by now.”_

“ _The boss told us to search to the edge of the area, so we’re searching to the edge of the area.”_

Silence for a moment, the footsteps drawing closer. Peter stepped back into the shadows, his ears pricking as Tony did the same.

“ _What exactly did Osborn say he saw again? Some kid dressed in black, and an old man that looks like Tony Stark? Now is he tryin’ to say that this guy_ looks _like Tony Stark, or that he_ is _Tony Stark? ‘Cause let me tell you, if he’s implyin’ that the guy that he just made a massive business deal with is tryin’ to break into his company, then we’ve got a bigger story here than just some miscreants.”_

“ _Your guess is as good as mine, Brian. But I’d be careful, puttin’ any stock in what Osborn has to say. Guy’s a bit wacko, if you ask me.”_

“ _Don’t let the boss hear you say that. He’s always goin’ on about how he had dinner one time at Osborn’s house, like some grand guest or somethin’. Osborn sure knows how to feed an ego, I’ll give him that.”_

Peter could see the strobes of flashlights running along the snow in the alleyway, and up onto the walls. His eyes followed to where his and Tony’s footsteps began just a few feet further up, as they had come from a different route further ahead. But if the cops came any closer, they’d spot the tracks, and see them lead directly to the attic.

Peter clenched his fists, the fingers on his left hand hovering closer to his wrist.

No, but he couldn’t. They were cops. They had nothing to do with any of this. He could never attack a cop.

The light came closer, and Peter’s heart began to race.

He crouched down defensively, tightening his muscles, ready to jump at any second. Even if these were the police, he couldn’t let them find them. If they did, they’d never get a-hold of Bruce and Pepper, and they’d never find Steve and the rest of the Avengers before Seftis killed them – if he hadn’t already.

Peter watched as the lights neared the tracks. Closer… and closer… and closer, and –

“ _Dan, I’m tellin’ ya, it’s as cold as ice out here, the snow isn’t about to stop fallin’ any time soon. Now I don’t know about you, but our shift’s nearly done, and I’d rather not have to spend the rest of the night de-thawing in my bed. Let’s just get out of here. We ain’t gonna find anyone tonight.”_

The lights lasted a moment longer, before suddenly turning and disappearing into the dark.

The breath that Peter hadn’t realised he’d been holding suddenly let go, and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He listened as the cops walked back to their car, got inside, and drove away.

They were safe. At least for the moment.

“Kid?” Tony whispered after a moment. “They gone?”

Peter nodded, swallowing down the adrenaline back into his throat.

There was a pause, then, “Did you… with your hearing, did you… did you manage to hear what they said, or –.”

“Osborn called us in to the police,” Peter said, standing to his feet. “He claimed we – or at least, a kid dressed in black and a guy that looks like Tony Stark – broke into his lab. They’ll be on the lookout the rest of the night for us.”

“What?” Tony asked, squirrelling his face. “Why would I, Tony Stark, ever want to break into Oscorp’s labs? Who would actually believe that I was trying to steal tech from Oscorp, of all people? If anything, he’d be trying to steal tech from _me_. In fact, I swear he probably did once, when –.”

“We need to get to the tower,” Peter interrupted. He knew Tony was rambling because he was nervous, and he couldn’t blame him. Being stuck out in the middle of the city, with no suit and only a random kid with superpowers to defend him – it probably left him more than a little nervous.

“Come on,” Peter said, and held out his arm. Tony gave him a look, then tentatively took it. In the next second Peter swung Tony over the edge and lowered him with his web to the ground.

With one last forlorn look at his empty, cold, and snow-filled attic, Peter followed.

Once they were both on the ground and Tony had the jacket on, they began to make their way through the back alleys and towards Stark Tower. They’d have to avoid the streets from now on, in case someone saw them.

But Stark Tower was still a ways away, and the night was still young, and the snow continued to fall.

Peter silently swore.

_I hate winter._

* * *

They had been walking in silence for about twenty minutes, Peter leading them through backways and little-known paths as they made their way towards Stark Tower.

For a brief moment, Peter thought they may make the entire way in peace; but then Tony had go and open his big mouth.

“So since it seems like we’re going to have some good ol’e quality time together for a while, I must say, I have more than a few questions for you.”

 _Oh,_ Peter thought. _Joy_.

Without even waiting for a response, Tony continued, “Right now what I’d like to know, is what the hell is everyone so concerned with your chest, for? Steve said something was inside it, that… that Seftis guy, or whoever he is, seemed to think there was something inside it, and now the Green Goblin – or dear old Norman, as I like to call him – seemed ready to kill in order to get it.

“Now, whatever fugitives you like to harbour, that’s your deal. But when my head gets placed on the chopping block, well, then… I supposed I’d like to know what I’m dying for.”

Peter’s eye twitched, and he bit back the sarcastic remark he so wanted to throw Tony’s way, or rather, the urge to simply tell him to fuck off. He’d already been told about everything that happened; he didn’t need Peter to tell him again.

And he told him as such.

“I thought Mister Rogers told you what I have.”

“Well _Mister Rogers_ isn’t the one that has whatever it is in his chest, does he? And I prefer to get my information directly from the source.”

Peter let out an undisguised sigh, knowing that if he didn’t appease Tony’s curiosity, he’d be hearing about it for the rest of their walk.

“I have the soul of a Watcher inside me,” he said, ducking underneath a large overhang along the alley. “Apparently when it – he, whoever – was killed, he decided I would be as good a place as any to live in. And apparently the soul – or essence of a Watcher, whatever it is – is pretty valuable real estate, so Osborn’s made it his mission to take it for himself, even if he has to kill me to get it.”

“And this Seftis guy, is he –.”

“He’s the one that killed the Watcher in the first place. Now it seems like the Watcher’s placed some sort of… _Harry Potter_ spell over me, and Seftis can’t kill me. So instead of killing me, he’s going to kill everyone else. Because why the fuck not?”

There as a pause as they walked a few more yards in silence, before Tony spoke.

“So… did you always know you had this, this _Watcher_ inside of you? Did you just decide to not tell anyone, or… or is this part of your – your special abilities?”

Peter gritted his teeth. _Seriously?_

“I don’t know when he showed up,” Peter replied shortly. “And as far as I know, he has nothing to do with my abilities. At least not my normal ones. The spider did all that.”

“Okay, so now here’s another question: your… your powers, or – whatever they are. The fact that you can climb walls and shoot webs from your arms. You’re saying you got all that because of… because of a spider?”

“Well I don’t know about the webs,” Peter said, turning out of the alley and onto the street. They’d have to walk for a bit in the light, if they wanted to get to the string of alleys that would eventually bring them out just before Stark Tower. “Those are more… recent. I don’t know if they’re me, or… or if they’re because of… of something else. I still used webs, before. I just made them myself.”

“Made them yourself?”

“Yeah. They were mechanical web-shooters. I made the design, found the parts, and built it. I manufactured the fluid at my school.”

“At… your school.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re smart then. Like, probably not your run-of-the-mill, smart, but like – _actually_ smart. Above average..”

Tony used to say that Peter was the second smartest man in the room, next to him, and even though he made it sound like a joke, part of Peter had liked to believe that he had really meant it.

 _God_ , it still boggled his mind that he was actually out here, with Tony, just the two of them, walking in the middle of a snowfall-warning in near-empty streets, heading all the way to Stark Tower in order to get his suit. Just four months ago he was sitting in his attic, by himself, making the last details of his plan to leave the city and never come back; to never have to see Tony, his aunt, or the Avengers ever again.

Now here he was, walking and talking with Tony as though the last two years hadn’t happened; as though they were merely on a little stroll along the streets, catching up on old times. It was ridiculous.

But of course, things weren’t the same. He was a completely different person than he was two years ago when Tony knew him, but that didn’t matter because Tony didn’t know him anymore. And besides, as Tony had made it painfully clear, he wasn’t exactly as wanted or even liked as he had once been.

How could he ever forget that?

Tony’s voice sounded through the crisp air, breaking the silence that had momentarily fallen over them.

“Are you working with him?”

Peter furrowed his brows, not sure if he’d heard right. “What?”

“Osborn, and this… this Seftis guy. Are you working with them?”

Peter slowed to a stop, then slowly turned round, the streetlights casting their orange glow against the ever-falling snow.

He glared. “Are you serious?”

Tony stared back at him, his gaze unwavering. “I’m only saying that, ever since you came around, these guys showed up as well. That’s when all our problems started – when you showed up.”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Tony – how could he insinuate – how could he actually _believe_ that – that he was –

He was his mentor, his friend. He had been like a father to him. And now – memories or not, now he actually believed that he was – that he was with _Osborn and Seftis_ –

“No,” Peter spat, his voice dangerously low. “I’m not with Seftis, or Osborn, or anyone else you can think of. Why you would – why you would even _begin_ to think that, I don’t – I don’t know how the hell you could _possibly_ think that, when you – when you –.”

Peter turned round, starting to walk away, trying to shove his anger back down, but like a snake suddenly thrown out of its cage, he found he couldn’t hold it back.

He spun round again, this time unable to keep his voice from shouting.

“I can’t – I can’t believe you actually said that! I mean, I know you hate me, but do you seriously think – do you _seriously_ think that, after everything you’ve seen, after everything Steve – Captain _fucking_ America – told you, how could you still possibly think that I’m secretly on their side? Huh?! How the hell could you think I’m one of them?!”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but Peter was already walking up to him, shoving his finger in his face and cutting him off before he could speak.

“I lost my life for you!” he shouted. “I lost my entire fucking _life_ for you, and this is how you thank me? By treating me like _shit_ , by using every opportunity you get to put me down, to make sure I know I’m unwanted, and now accusing me of working with Osborn and Seftis? Really?!”

Peter stepped back, shaking his head with an empty laugh. “I should have left this city as soon he erased your memories. I should have gotten the first ticket out of here and made my way out to Oregon, or even to Canada. Just as long as I was far away from you.”

“Kid, I –.”

“And what about _you?_ What about you, huh? You’re the one that got us all in this mess in the first place! If you had just listened to me, if you had just listened to _anyone_ – you’d have known that Osborn was trying to trick you. You’d have known that he already has his fingers deep in Stark Industries, that as soon as you finished the deal he would find a way to screw you over and take over your company, but you still went! You still fucking went! And now Steve and everyone else have been captured because of it! Seftis now has them because they went after you! They tried to save you! And I got stuck saving someone who thinks I’m working with the fucking _enemy_ –.”

“Kid, Peter, I –.”

“Why?!” Peter shouted, stepping back into Tony’s space. “Why would you even – how could you even _possibly_ think that I would be working with Seftis?! Huh?! Answer me! Just answer me you selfish, egotistical son of a bi –.”

“ _Because I’ve seen you in my dreams!_ ”

Peter’s words were sucked out of his throat, and suddenly he found himself unable to speak.

He stared at Tony, his eyes wide as his lungs heaved in his chest.

Tony stared back at him, and now that Peter got a good look, he realised that the man looked stricken, that he looked angry – but not at Peter. At least, not entirely.

Tony stared at Peter a moment longer, then took a breath.

“For the past two years I’ve been having these… these dreams. Almost every night I have them, and they’re all – they’re all crazy, like everyone’s dreams are. The only difference is… is that… is that _you’re_ in them. Or at least, someone who looks like you. And talks like you.”

There was a pause, then Tony continued. “I thought I was crazy, at first, to keep seeing you.” He huffed. “I even asked a therapist about it. She figured you were either just a figment of my imagination, something that came about because I’ve seen so much crazy shit, or… or that you represented something. Something I didn’t want to give up. Something I lost.

“I tried to sort my life out, tried to figure out the things I didn’t want to let go of and let go of them. Pepper thought I was secretly wanting a family, but I… even though I’ve always wanted kids, I… I found I just… couldn’t bring myself to have them. Not yet. I even gave up coffee, for a while – crazy, I know. But no matter what I did, I still kept dreaming of you.

“We would… we would do things, together. We’d be in my shop, building things, or – or I’d be surprising you at school, hiding in the back seat when Happy came to pick you up. You’d just… you’d just get this huge smile on your face, when you saw me. And I’d feel….” He swallowed. “I’d feel happy, too. It was like… for the first time in my life, I had a reason to exist. Aside from building an empire, aside from the Avengers, aside from Pepper, it was like… it was like my life had a purpose. It was as though someone actually needed me, because of me. Not because I was Iron Man, or because I was Tony Stark, but because… just because I was _me_.”

Heat was stinging in his eyes and Peter swallowed, a lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

But Tony wasn’t finished.

“I started looking forward to going to sleep, as crazy as that sounds, because instead of always seeing nightmares and the past, I was now seeing you. You were like this… this security blanket, this… this comfort. Something I had to look forward to at the end of day, knowing that whatever happened in my dreams, in my nightmares, it wouldn’t matter – because you’d be there.”

Tony shook his head. “You were even with me when I was reliving Thanos. You… you had jumped on the ship as it was leaving, and basically wormed your way in until it was too late and we couldn’t go back. I was – I was _furious_ , and I was – I was panicked. Because this wasn’t a game, I didn’t have a fail-safe for you, if something happened, you’d be – we’d be –.” Tony swallowed. “And then, when Thanos snapped his fingers, you… you disappeared –.”

“But you got us back,” Peter whispered, tears now pooling in his eyes. “Everyone disappeared, but you got us back. You got me back. You saved us all. We’re alive, because of you. _I’m_ alive, because of you.”

Tony stared at him, and he stared back, neither of them able to say anything for a moment.

Then finally, Tony said, “So that’s… that’s why I thought you were working with Seftis. When I saw you for the first time, on that rooftop with Osborn – or, or the Green Goblin – I thought… I thought my mind was playing tricks on me; that I had finally snapped, because now I was seeing figments of my imagination in reality, and then… and then I….” He took a breath. “So I figured someone was messing with my mind; that someone was making me see things in order to think I’d gone crazy, in order… in order to steal secrets, or somehow worm their way into the Avengers, or….”

He took another breath. “I thought Osborn and Seftis had sent you because they somehow knew I dreamt of you every night. Because they thought I would trust you. That’s why I asked if you were working with them. That’s why I thought you could be an enemy. I see now you weren’t, and I… I’m sorry.”

There was a long moment of silence, after that, nothing to be heard by the sound of snow falling through the air.

Peter didn’t know what to think, but at the same time he was thinking of everything. Of Tony, of Seftis, of Osborn, of Tony, of Steve and the team, of Tony, of Tony.

He couldn’t believe it. He had thought… he had thought that Tony hated him, that out of everyone, he’d be the last person in the world to remember him. He still didn’t remember him, that much was clear, but to now… to now find out that he – that he had been dreaming about him, ever since he’d been lost, he – he was –

“I thought you hated me,” Peter whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Ever since I showed up at the compound, you were the biggest asshole. I mean, you’d always been an ass, but… but not like that. Not to me. I thought… I thought there was no way you could ever know who I was, because you hated me too much.”

Tony huffed out a short laugh, giving Peter a look. “Well you weren’t exactly holding out an olive branch yourself, kid. You made it clear pretty fast that I wasn’t high on your favourite list, either.”

Something in Peter turned at that comment, the anger within him suddenly re-surging, like a wave coming back on shore. He tried to keep the words even when he spoke, but even he could hear the spite in his own voice. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to put on a happy face, when the man you once thought of as your father can’t stand to even be near you.”

The smile on Tony’s face fell away, and his own red-eyes twitching together in a small glare. “Kid, you’ve been pissed at me since the moment we first met, so don’t try and blame everything on me. So what did I do? What did I ever do to you, Peter? What did I ever do to make you so angry with me?”

“ _You forgot me._ ”

Peter heaved in a breath, and then another, and then another. He fought back the tears, forcing them to stay in his eyes and not to fall on his face, but it was too late. He could already feel their heat running down his cheeks, the cold air quickly turning them to ice.

“You forgot me, Mister Stark. You left me on my own, in this – in this city, all by myself. I had no one. You said you’d always have my back, that as long as I was near you – and even when I wasn’t – that you help me when I needed it. Well, I needed your help, Mister Stark, I needed it more than I ever had before. And you… and you just….”

He knew it was irrational. He knew he was wrong. He knew that it wasn’t Tony’s fault, that none of this was his fault, that there was no way he could’ve helped him, because he didn’t know who he was and that was _not his fault_.

But still, what had been slowly growing inside of him for the past two years had finally been let loose, and Peter couldn’t ignore the fact that, deep down, he was angry. He was so, so _angry_. At Tony, at the Avengers, at Seftis, at everyone – because he had been forgotten, and he had been left behind. He had become lost, and no one ever knew he was missing.

And somewhere, deep within him, he resented them for it.

But that resentment was wrong. _He_ was wrong. He knew that. No one deserved his anger except Seftis himself. It wasn’t the Avengers fault that they had their memories taken away, it wasn’t Tony’s fault. It was _Seftis’_ fault.

And in the end, if he were truly honest, it was _his_ fault. For he was the one that had made the choice for their memories to be taken away. He was the one that had struck the gavel down and passed the sentence. He was the reason why his life was the way it was today.

And what was worse, was that there was nothing he could do about it. There never had been.

“Why didn’t you come find us?” Tony asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Why didn’t you tell us who you were? We – _I_ – would have believed you. I’d seen you in my dreams, I would have known that you were telling the truth, or at least that you could be telling the truth, or –.”

“I was told that if I ever went near you, Seftis would kill you,” Peter replied. “But even if he hadn’t said that, how was I supposed to know you might have remembered me? How was I supposed to know you might know who I am, when my own aunt looked me straight in the face, spoke to me, and still didn’t have a clue who I was?”

Tony stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back, tears still stinging hot in his eyes as he fought to control his breaths.

God, he was… he was breaking down. He had vowed to turn his back on his past, he had vowed to move forward, to move on with his life – but here he was, losing control in front of Tony himself, who still didn’t really remember him, and he didn’t – he didn’t know what to say, or to do, or – or –

Tony took a quiet, shuddering breath, and Peter’s eyes widened slightly as he realised the older man – the man who had once been his mentor, his idol, his… his father – his eyes were now stained red, and shining with the reflection of unshed tears.

Except that wasn’t… Tony didn’t – he never cried, he never even came close to crying, he was – he was Tony Stark, he was _Iron Man_ , he was –

And before Peter even realised what was happening, Tony stepped forward and wrapped him his arms around him.

“Kid,” Tony choked out. “Peter, I – I’m sorry. I should have… I should have been there. I should have stopped him. He never should have done this to you, and I… I can’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Peter was too stunned at first to do anything. But then, slowly, bit by bit, he raised his arms and hugged Tony back.

And the tears fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo - I would love to hear from you!


	21. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Here we go.

Tony still didn’t remember him, that much he made clear after they parted and Peter was able to get a hold of himself once more. But for some reason that didn’t bother him, at least not right now. Right now all that he cared about was shoving the feelings and emotions back down into his chest, and continuing on until they reached the tower. They had Avengers to save, after all.

They walked the next hour mostly in silence, neither knowing what to say after all that had already been said. Peter felt undeniably embarrassed over the whole thing; he had spent the last two years shoving all his anger and resentment down into a box and burying it deep within him, intending never to take it out, intending to fully get over it and move on with his life. But now he may as well have taken that box, torn it apart, and thrown everything inside it into the sky. And he had no idea how to go about cleaning it all back up.

So he would, in this moment at least, have bliss in his ignorance.

The snow was still falling heavily, the streetlights nothing more than orange flames dancing in the cold air around them. Peter’s feet were long-since filled with snow, his socks soaked and his toes starting to freeze, and he absently wished he had some newspaper to fill them with. He had a feeling, though, that Tony would not somehow appreciate that.

It was shortly after that hour of blissful silence that Tony started to speak.

“Hey, so… I was thinking that, in order to, well… jog my memory, or whatever the case may be – I thought that maybe you might tell me a bit about yourself. And me. About yourself and me, together. As in, how we met, what we… what we did together. How you became an Avenger. I’m assuming you were an Avenger – or, are, I guess is the proper verb. But then, that might just be Rogers trying to mess with me.”

He continued on, not leaving any room for Peter to answer. “He can be a bully, you know. He’s not all roses and sunshine like you see in those ridiculous PSAs. Only his preferred method of bullying is far more… discreet. Plus, he has the backing of being _Captain America_ , so it’s not like anyone believes me anyway when I tell them he can be a right old bastard. They all say, ‘no, Tony, you’re wrong – he’s _Captain America_. And Captain America is the nicest person in the entire _world_ , he’s the nicest person in all of _history_. He can’t possibly be mean. The only person that can be mean is _you_ , so it must be _your_ fault. Everything always has to be your fault’. Pssh.”

He was rambling again, which meant of course that he was nervous. He never liked to show it, he liked to keep his face a mask as strong and unyielding as his one of iron, but Peter had known him long enough now to know what was going on beneath the facade.

Peter wasn’t in the mood to talk, and his instinct urged him to ignore the question entirely, but after all that had happened, he could no longer ignore the reality that was staring him square in the face – and the consequences that went with it. Even if the consequences meant talking far more than he would like.

“Well?” Tony pressed.

“You found me when I was running around New York as _Spider-Man_. I got on your radar, I guess. I think you saw me on YouTube videos.”

“You had your own costume already? I thought someone said that I had made it for you or… or something.”

“Well, yeah, sort of. I drew the design, but you’re the one that actually made it. The good suit, that is. The first one… well, the first one was kind of… basic.” He pushed the images of what essentially had been sweatpants and a sweatshirt for a costume out of his mind, unable to stop the cringe that followed. He’d always known what he wanted the suit to be like, but the materials required for such an idea had sort of been out of the reach of a fourteen-year-old’s budget.

They were nearing a busier district of the city, which tended not to sleep or stop, even when they were buried feet-deep in snow. They were passing more pedestrians, and even a few taxis were braving their way across the slippery roads.

“Anyway, you needed some help with a… a mission… and so you asked that I come along. So I came and I helped, and I went back home.”

There was a pause, and he could hear Tony’s feet stop behind him for a moment before resuming once more. “Seriously? I just saw you on YouTube and decided to whisk you away on some random adventure? And you agreed, just like that?”

“You said you needed help, and I was barely fifteen and had _the_ Tony Stark asking me for it, so it wasn’t like I was going to say no.”

“Still, that sounds… that sounds….”

“Exactly like you?”

Tony was silent.

“And let me guess,” Tony said after a few moments. “This grand adventure I whisked you away on… was to Germany to fight Steve and his minions?”

Peter briefly wondered how Tony knew that, then remembered that he said he’d had dreams of him being there. It was still hard to believe that Tony’s memories hadn’t been completely wiped away, that some of them had still hung on somewhere deep in his subconscience. He still didn’t know what to make of it.

So he wouldn’t make anything, for now.

“And so – what? Did I just make you an Avenger, right then and there? Because I have to say, there’s a lot of things I would do, and I mean a _lot_ , but I have to admit that sounds a bit irresponsible, even for me.”

Peter fought the smile from his face, his eyes glancing up along the Stark Industries tower as it disappeared into the clouds. They would be there shortly. And about time, too. He could handle his fair share of outdoor adventures, but his fingers and toes were ready to be warmed up. He was sure that Tony felt the same.

“You offered the position to me a few months later,” Peter replied, pressing his fingers tighter underneath his arms. “But I turned it down. I wanted… I wanted to stay a teenager for a little bit longer, I guess.”

Not that that lasted long, anyways.

“But you accepted at one point, right? That’s what Steve said. That you _were_ an Avenger, not just someone who turned it down.”

He was pressing, pushing for memories that Peter didn’t want to relive, and Peter wished he could just stop this whole conversation all together.

“You made me an Avenger during Thanos,” Peter said, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground in front of him. Just a few more blocks, and they’d be at the tower. “I had –.”

“You had snuck onto the ship, as we were leaving,” Tony finished for him. Peter could practically feel his incredulous glare behind him. “You mean that was real?! You really snuck on board a ship that was already departing, that was heading into _space,_ when I –.”

Peter finally stopped and turned, giving Tony a very hard, and very unimpressed stare. “No offense Mister Stark, but I think we should focus on getting to the tower. We’re nearly there. And I’m sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to have you reprimand me about that.” He turned back round, resuming his walk while whispering under his breath. “ _Again_.”

To his credit – and Peter’s relief – Tony said no more on the subject, and they made the rest of the way in silence.

Finally, after what felt like an age, they arrived at the base of the tower.

Peter’s gaze made its way up the tower, glancing along the numerous lit and darkened windows until they reached the bottom of the clouds, just making out the glowing letters of “ST” beyond.

“Well it’s about time,” Tony said loudly as he made his way past Peter, all but running up the steps until he reached the door. “I swear, I am going to get a coffee the size of a ship. Or a coffee that could sink a ship. Whichever one will do, I just need to have it _now_. I’m cold and I’m wet and I just walked a thousand miles, and I have to say that if I had to choose between walking on the flaming hot sand of Afghanistan or the frozen wastelands of New York, I would pick –.”

He pulled on the doors, and for a brief, insane moment, Peter actually expected them to open. But when they didn’t, and Tony was left pulling on them in angry confusion, Peter suddenly remembered that it was well past one in the morning. So of course the tower would be closed. Of course they wouldn’t be able to get inside. Of course. Because this was typical, oh so typical Parker luck.

“I can’t believe I actually let them lock the doors on these things,” Tony growled, pulling the handle once more as though this time it would magically open. “What the hell’s the point of having a suit stored in case of emergencies, when you can’t even get inside the damn building?”

Peter looked through the glass doors where the empty welcome desk sat, the lights on but not a soul to be found. He bit back a sigh and rubbed his arms as a shiver rattled down his spine. Well he supposed there would be no hot coffee of his own in the near future. Not that he had ever really drank it before, he’d always found it too bitter, but he’d drink anything hot right now in order to get warm.

With a frustrated grunt, Tony stepped away from the door. “Well I guess the only solution then is to break it down. It’s my door anyways, I’ll just have it replaced.”

He swung his arm back, as though he were actually going to punch his hand through the glass, and Peter’s eyes widened and he immediately jumped forward, grabbing Tony’s arm.

“Mister Stark! What – you can’t, you can’t do that!” He knew from experience how painful it was to break glass with your hand. He could only imagine how much worse it would be for a human like Tony.

He pulled Tony back and met his eyes with a glare. “And besides, we can’t draw attention to ourselves. The cops are still looking for a guy that looks like Tony Stark and another guy that looks like me. Even if you could convince them we’re not thieves, it would take a long time – and do you really want to deal with that kind of crap right now?”

Tony held Peter’s gaze for a moment longer, before sloughing off his grip and giving him a hard stare in return. “Well how do you propose we get in then, huh? We need to get to the fiftieth floor, and it’s not like we can just fly to the top, and –.”

Seeing Peter’s raised brow and realising what he’d just said, Tony’s eyes widened and he immediately began to backtrack.

“No. No, that’s not what I meant. That was meant to be a hypothetical question, meant for people who can’t actually fly or climb up walls or whatever it is kids do these days. You want to talk about inconspicuous? Because that – _that_ right there is the exact opposite of inconspicuous. Climbing up the side of a _building_ in the middle of the night with the snow trying to bury you and the cold trying to freeze you to death, _that’s_ what will draw people’s attention. You’ll be front page news, you’ll be on YouTube again, and we’ll all be fu –.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter interrupted, trying to keep the edges of his lips from turning upwards, “I can do it. I’ll make sure to climb only where the windows are dark. And don’t worry, you don’t have to come with me, you can stay on the ground.”

Tony gave him a look and Peter’s stomach made a painful twist, for the look was one that he had seen many – no, countless – times before. It was a look that clearly stated exactly what Tony thought of his little plan, while at the same time unable to come up with a better one of his own. It was a look of appalled annoyance, and begrudging resignation. It was a look only Tony could give, and Peter was suddenly reminded of exactly all that he had lost the last two years.

“All right,” Tony said after a moment. “Fine. But I know you can hear me with your – _super-hearing_ , or whatever – so if I tell you to abort the mission and come the hell down, you’ll come the hell down right then and there – understand?”

“Absolutely,” Peter lied.

“All right. Okay. Okay fine.”

Tony took Peter round the side of the building, where a large tree hung over the sidewalk, giving a small bit of shadow where they could hide from the streetlights. He pointed towards an area three-quarters of thew way up.

“I have a penthouse on the forty-seventh floor. The suit’s in a locked room inside, and I have FRIDAY connected to the room, so you can only access it if you have the right voice – namely, if you’re me – or if you have the right voice command.”

“And what’s the right voice command?”

There was a pause.

Peter blinked.

There was another pause, then Peter frowned.

“Wait, you don’t know the voice command?”

Tony gave him a glare. “Hey, I’m working on it!”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Mister Stark! How the heck do you not know the voice command? You can’t – you can’t just forget something like that –.”

“Shut up, shut up! I’m trying to think, here!”

Peter resisted the urge to pull his hair out – because this was so, _so_ not the time for further delays – and instead took a few steps away, pacing and rubbing his arms as he tried to both warm up and cool down.

Finally after a few minutes, Tony snapped his fingers.

“Got it,” he said, and Peter quickly made his way back to him. “The voice command is _‘_ _even dead, I’m the hero’_.”

Peter frowned and squirreled his face. “What the heck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it says on the tin, underoos! Now hurry up and start climbing – I’ve already frozen one buttocks, I’d like to try and keep the other. You know, for sitting purposes and all that.”

Peter huffed, trying to keep back a growl, before he grabbed his black mask and pulled it over his face. “You have the biggest ego, you know that?” he said as he walked towards the side of the building.

“So I’ve been told. Now get going. It’s the fifth window from the left, got it?”

“Got it,” Peter said, placing his hands on the side of the building.

“All right. Now make sure to keep only to the windows where the lights are off, and don’t –.”

But Peter was already gone.

“… fall.”

Tony let out a heavy sigh, and with a small glare went back to the shadows.

Damn kids.

* * *

Peter scaled the building quickly, crawling up and back, this way and that, as he made sure to only climb across the windows that were dark. He knew he had to be quick, because even though it _was_ the middle of the night and the building was closed, that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone, somewhere that was watching the tower. He hadn’t been on YouTube in years, and he would very much like to keep it that way.

Being so high on the building, held only by his hands and feet, was like a breath of fresh air – a feeling that Peter hadn’t realised he’d forgotten, that he hadn’t realised he’d missed. There was a lot, it turned out, that he’d forgotten he missed.

After a couple minutes Peter finally made it to the penthouse windows. Slipping his fingers along the edge of one of the panes, Peter tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. He frowned. He didn’t really want to break it, he had a feeling there were more than one measure of security, ready to scream and yell once he smashed his way inside. And he really didn’t want to draw attention to himself, even if the owner of the building and penthouse was right below him.

So he would have to force the window open.

Breaking the locks on the window from the outside would be impossible for any other person, but for Peter it could certainly be done – he just doubted his fingers would come away scott-free.

But it needed to be done. So, without wasting any more time, Peter pressed his fingers against the minuscule ledge of the pane, and pushed.

The locks on the window all popped simultaneously, and the pane flew open. Ignoring his cut and now-bleeding fingers, Peter immediately ripped through the screen and slipped inside.

At first, Peter thought everything was running smoothly. He’d made his way inside, he was in the right room – if the shiny, expensive-looking penthouse was any indication – and now all he needed to do was find the door that led to Tony’s suit, say the password, and get inside.

But things are never so simple.

No sooner than he had taken his first step, did a small red light suddenly land on his chest.

“ _Identify yourself,_ ” came FRIDAY’s voice. “ _Or you will be sho_ _t_.”

 _What the hell?!_ Peter thought, freezing where he stood. Tony had said absolutely nothing about this.

“ _Identify yourself_ ,” FRIDAY repeated. “ _Or you will be shot_.”

“I’m – I’m Peter Parker,” Peter said quickly, not moving an inch.

“ _Peter Parker_ _not recognized. Identify yourself,_ _or you will be shot_.”

Fuck.

“I’m Peter Parker! I’m – I’m _Spider-Man_ , I –.”

“ _Peter Parker and Spider-Man not recognized. Prepare to be shot in three, two, one –_.”

Peter jumped to the side just as a dart went flying through the air, barely missing the side of his neck. He immediately rolled, dodging as more darts came after him. Through the chaos he was able to make out the small shooters from where the darts were being fired, and with a quick snap of his wrists, he fired his webs across them. The machines spluttered once, then died.

Peter took a brief moment to both breathe and glare, before he stood to his feet.

“ _Lock-down procedures commencing_ ,” FRIDAY said, and Peter jerked as bars began descending across all the exits all around him.

 _Hell no_.

“FRIDAY, FRIDAY no!” Peter shouted. “FRIDAY – FRIDAY, implement – implement the EDITH protocol!”

Nothing happened and the bars continued to slide into place, and Peter growled to himself before shouting, “implement protocol: ‘Even dead, I’m the hero!”

The bars came to a halt just before they were about to close, and a moment later they began to reverse and the lights turned on.

“ _EDITH protocol accepted_ ,” FRIDAY said calmly, as though she hadn’t just tried to kill and imprison Peter. “ _Welcome back, boss_.”

Peter let out a heavy sigh, taking a second to wonder what exactly he had done to deserve this.

After a few moments he raised his head and stood back up, looking round the penthouse for the door that Tony said kept the suit, and he quickly realised just how badly planned this so-called ‘idea’ really was.

The penthouse was massive, and there were many doors that could lead to numerous safes and workshops. Tony had said that the suit was kept behind ‘the door’, but which door was it?

Peter promptly walked over to the window and peered outside. He knew Tony had said he preferred to stay on the ground, but Peter wasn’t willing to go another round with FRIDAY in order to let him have his peace.

So, without waiting any longer, Peter pressed his fingers to his wrist, listened as the web snapped against the glass and pulled taut, and jumped out of the window.

He landed on the ground gracefully, ignoring Tony’s wide-eyed confusion and questioning stare. Without stopping to argue, he grabbed Tony beneath the arms and swung them both back up.

Once they were both inside the penthouse, Tony immediately began to yell.

“What – what the hell was that?! I don’t – I didn’t – I don’t have my suit! I could have – you could’ve _dropped_ –.”

A painful headache was now pounding behind Peter’s eyes, and he tried to keep his voice calm. “I wouldn’t have dropped you, Mister Stark, you were perfectly saf –”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! I wasn’t – that was the most unsafe thing I’ve ever _done_ , and I’ve done a ton of unsafe shit in my day, kid! You couldn’t – I thought we agreed I’d stay on the fucking _ground_ –.”

“Yeah, well, I would’ve let you, too, except your stupid AI was trying to kill me!” Peter shot back. “And the fact that you didn’t even tell me which fucking door your suit is in!” Peter was shouting – he hadn’t meant to start shouting.

“I told you, it’s the one in the bedroom!”

“No, you didn’t!” Peter yelled.

“Yes I did!”

“No, you _didn_ –.”

Peter blinked. Then blinked again. Memory of Tony’s words, stating exactly which door in the bedroom the suit was in, slowly trickled through his mind, and the back of his neck began to grow hot.

He was right. Tony was right. He _had_ told Peter where the suit was; he hadn’t just sent him out with no plan whatsoever. He had told him _exactly_ where he needed to go and what he needed to do.

The headache pushed harder behind his eyes and Peter pressed the heels of his palms against them, digging them into the sockets.

He had forgotten. He’d been told what to do, they’d discussed the plan, and… and he’d completely forgotten. As though he’d never been paying attention in the first place.

Peter listened as Tony stayed a moment longer, before his footsteps began, then faded away. He could hear the sounds of buttons being clicked and Tony’s low voice issuing commands to the AI as he retrieved the suit and latched it to his arm. A few moments later he returned, but the silence remained.

Peter didn’t know when he had sat down, but at one point he’d managed to make it to a chair, and his head fell into his arms on the table. The headache was now hammering against his skull, and he felt as though he were going to puke.

It was all catching up with him. The past few months, getting involved again with the Avengers, seeing Seftis. It was overwhelming him. Because really, what the hell was going on? Here he was, sitting in the penthouse of Tony Stark in the middle of New York, fifty floors above the ground, helping the billionaire retrieve his suit so that they could go and find the missing Avengers and – and this – this was –

This was ridiculous.

He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be back in his attic, back on the streets, trying to make and find enough money so that he could leave New York and start a life somewhere else. He was eighteen now. He was legal. He could get a job and do whatever he wanted without any authority looking over his shoulder or breathing down his neck. He could save enough money to eventually rent his own apartment, or even buy his own house, and then he could find a girl and get married and have kids and maybe some dogs and some cats and forget about the Avengers and having ever been _Spider-Man_ and – and have that whole old suburban dream because it was sure as hell more inviting and better than this _nightmare_ that he had fallen into, and – and –

Peter sucked in a breath, curling in on himself as his thoughts ran wild.

He wasn’t meant to ever see Tony again, he wasn’t meant to ever see the Avengers again. That was a life that had been taken away from him, that he had only just been able to finally let go of, and now it had all come back again except that _wasn’t the plan_. All of this – dealing with Seftis and Ascar and now Tony and all the others – it wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to happen it _wasn’t the plan_ , so why – why the hell was he here, and – and –

“Whoa, whoa kid – kid – you have to calm down. Do you hear me? You need to calm down, you need to take a breath. Take a breath, kid – you need to take a breath. _Peter!_ ”

Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him, and Peter lifted his head, managing to suck in a huge breath as he did.

His vision was blurry as his eyes met Tony’s, and he was barely able to see the wary concern and poorly hidden fear that was hiding behind them.

“Kid,” Tony said slowly, “you with me? You got – you gotta tell me what’s wrong. What’s wrong, Pete?”

“Mister Stark,” Peter choked out. He fumbled, his hand grabbing Tony’s arm and his fingers twisting in his jacket. “Mister Stark, I can’t – I can’t do this. I’m not – I’m not supposed to be here, I’m not – I’m not supposed to be doing any of this. I can’t – I c-can’t….”

He could feel Tony’s hand on his arm, squeezing it gently, and pain of another kind twisted in Peter’s gut, and he never wished more than now that the last two years had never happened.

“Kid – Peter – what are you talking about? What are you not supposed to be doing? I don’t understand.”

Peter shook his head, trying to get a hold of himself while at the same time explain exactly what he meant. Because Tony needed to know. He needed to know that Peter was a fake, that he was fraud. He needed to know just how weak he really was. How useless he really was.

“I can’t – I forgot, Mister Stark. I forgot what you said. I forgot what you said about the suit, I – I totally messed up. I haven’t done anything like this in two years, and the first time I do, I –.” Peter sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I’m not a _hero_ , Mister Stark. I’m not a hero anymore. I’m not _Spider-Man_ anymore. And I can’t – I can’t pretend that I am. I can’t help you save the others, I can’t get the others back, because – because I’m not strong enough. I’m not good enough. Even when I was _Spider-Man_ , I was never good enough. I – I got into so much trouble, and you had to bail me out so many times and – and – I couldn’t defeat Seftis before and now we’re here, and Steve and the others have been taken, and – and I –.”

Peter was choking on his own words and he tried to suck in another breath, but his voice now wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter how much he tried to calm himself down.

God, he was having a breakdown in front of TonyStark. He was having a breakdown in front of _Iron Man_.

He was having a breakdown in front of the man he used to think of as a father.

He wanted to run. He wanted to run like he always ran. Running had become second nature to him, it had become – it had become his way out. It had become his only way of escaping the shit hand he had been dealt, and now –

Suddenly, before Peter even knew what was happening, warm arms were wrapping around him and his chin was being pressed against a shoulder.

Not just a shoulder. Tony’s shoulder.

Nothing was said. Tony didn’t speak, and neither did Peter. They just sat there, together, neither saying a word as warm tears ran down Peter’s face. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

After a while Tony leaned back, and Peter turned away, not wanting the older man to see his face.

“Look, kid,” Tony said quietly. “I know you’ve been going through a… lot, lately. And I may not remember who you were, who… who _Spider-Man_ was. But I can tell you one thing: if I was the one that recruited you, and you helped us defeat Thanos, then… well… all I can say is, that you’re more than just some guy with a few special gifts. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to be someone that would show up on my radar. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to become an Avenger.”

Peter said nothing, and after a moment Tony continued, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Kid, I can’t get the others back on my own. I need your help. So don’t… don’t bail out on me now, okay? Don’t leave me hanging. Whoever this guy is, we can stop him. I mean, we stopped _Thanos_. If we could stop him, then we can stop anyone – right?”

Peter wanted to say yes. He wanted to smile and agree and assure Tony that he would have his back no matter what, that he was _Spider-Man_ , that he was strong, that Tony could trust him to find the rest of the Avengers and rescue them. He wanted to do everything he would have once done. He wanted everything to be the same as it was Before.

But it wasn’t. Two years had gone by, and no matter how much he wished nothing had changed, the reality was that it had. Everything had changed.

He had changed.

But Tony was right. For now, at least, Peter had to pull up his bootstraps. He had to take a deep breath and finish the fight, no matter how much he wanted to run. Because the others needed someone to save them, and for whatever reason, he and Tony were the only ones left. Them and Bruce.

Peter blinked, then quickly drew back, turning to look at Tony.

But Tony was already ahead of him.

“FRIDAY, call Bruce,” he said.

A few moments later Bruce’s voice was echoing through the apartment.

“ _Tony!”_

“Hey, Banner.”

The two proceeded to talk, Bruce making sure Tony was all right and Tony assuring him that he was just fine and dandy, if not a little frozen. Soon after Pepper’s voice came through, panicked and worried, but eventually Tony managed to calm her down as well.

Peter tried to pay attention as everyone discussed what was happening and what they should do next, but the headache that had been assaulting him before had returned in full force, and the events of the past twenty-four hours had finally caught up with him, as exhaustion fell over his body like a heavy blanket. It was everything he could do to keep his eyes open and head off the table.

…

“ _...eter…_ _. Peter!_ ”

Peter jumped, his eyes snapping back open as he looked up and met Tony’s gaze. There was silence in the room, which likely meant the call with Bruce was over. Which meant Peter had fallen asleep. Whoops.

But instead of a reprimand or sarcastic comment, which Peter had half-expected, there was instead only tight lips and a look that Peter couldn’t quite make out.

“Come on,” the man said, motioning for Peter to stand up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But Mister Stark,” Peter objected, “we have to find Mister Rogers and the others, and –.”

“It’s two-thirty in the morning, kid, and we have no clue where they are. Steve will take care of them. Besides, neither of us can do anything if we’re dead on our feet. And I don’t know about you, but my feet are still un-thawing and I don’t really want to go back out there right now, iron suit or not.”

Peter wanted to argue, wanted to keep going, wanted to make sure the others were safe; but with each passing second his eyelids seemed to fall further and further down, and the blanket of exhaustion that had fallen over him had now turned into a dense fog.

So begrudgingly, Peter stood up and followed Tony into one of the bedrooms, where he was all but pushed onto the bed.

“Go to sleep, kid,” Tony said. “We’ll figure out where to go from here in the morning.”

Peter nodded, and watched as Tony gave him a brief smile before exiting the room.

Alone in the dark, Peter was barely able to push his shoes off before he was falling back onto the bed, fast asleep.

* * *

When Peter woke up and saw the time, he nearly had a heart-attack.

Ten twenty-five in the morning. It was ten twenty-five and he was still in bed, the Avengers were still captured, he was in Tony Stark’s New York penthouse fifty-floors above the ground and – and –

Peter stumbled onto the ground, all but running through the door and into the kitchen.

“Mister Stark! Mister Stark, I’m so sorry, I –.”

His eyes landed on Tony, who was sitting at the table in front of a hologram, his folded hands resting above his mouth as he stared at map of Manhattan, looking more tired than Peter had seen in a while. Upon Peter’s outburst he looked up, raising a quizzical brow.

Peter stood for a moment, catching his breath, staring at Tony incredulously while wondering why the heck he was still sitting down.

“Parker,” Tony said lightly, still looking at him warily, as though he wasn’t sure whether the younger man was going to jump on the ceiling or not. “Good morning.”

Peter’s brows furrowed and he shook his had. “Mister Stark, we need to get going! We need to find the others, and –.”

“Hey now, slow down there buckaroo – we’re not going anywhere yet. Have you looked outside?”

Frowning, Peter finally looked up and out the window.

It was completely white.

If he had thought last night was a heavy snowfall, then this was a full-on blizzard. All he could see were snowflakes; he couldn’t even see the skyscraper that should have been directly across the street in front of him. Walking over and peering out the window, it quickly became clear that while darkness had been replaced with light, the visibility was now near zero.

“There’s no way you’d be able to see anything out there,” Tony remarked, having gone back to his holo-table. “And even with my suit, I’d probably end up flying into a building or hitting a lamppost or something. And besides, I’d rather keep a low profile at the moment. Surprise is probably the only thing we have on our side, at the moment.”

Peter continued to stare out in the white abyss, shaking his head. It was ridiculous. After all this time, after saving Tony and making it to the tower – here they now were, stuck because of a stupid storm. Why was he always getting screwed over by the damn weather?

“Come on, kid,” Tony said. “Come get something to eat. I never come here much anymore, so I’m afraid the only thing I have that’s edible is cheerios. Bowls are in the cupboard.”

Peter felt like doing anything other than sitting down and eating breakfast, but since it was clear that there was nothing they could do at the moment, he reluctantly grabbed a bowl and poured himself some cereal, sitting down at the table.

They sat in silence for a few moments while Peter ate and while Tony stared at the holo-map, as though glaring at it would somehow make it make sense.

Peter struggled between staying silent and asking Tony what he was thinking; he didn’t want to interfere, but at the same time he wanted to know what was going on, so that maybe he could help. Finally, the latter won out.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Bruce sent this over. Figures this is where that Seftis guy took the others. It’s the last known area where Steve’s emergency tracker was traced, before it went dark. I’m having my satellites scan the areas for any signatures of where they may be.”

Peter didn’t know Steve had hit his emergency button. And that it suddenly had been turned off could only mean that… that….

Peter swallowed and turned his attention back to eating, trying to ignore the guilt that stabbed his chest, trying to ignore the voice that shouted loudly in the back of his mind of how this was all his fault, how if only he’d stayed away like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened, and everyone would still be safe.

They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Tony’s lack of comments testament to how serious the situation was, as well as how little sleep he probably got last night. Again, Peter wished that Tony had woken him up, rather than let him sleep in.

“Hey, Pete?”

Peter blinked, not realising he’d zoned out, and turned back to Tony. “Y-yeah?”

“I was thinking… if you wanted, you could draw me a picture of the suit you used to wear. As _Spider-Man_ , or whatever. In my honest opinion, I think Spider-boy is the better name. Or Spider-ling. Anyway. I have a workshop in the back here, with enough tech that I could make you a suit. Like the one you used to have. If you wanted. Then you could go into the fight with at least some protection.”

Peter blinked. Then blinked again.

When Peter didn’t immediately answer, Tony quickly continued. “Or I can give you an iron-suit. Whichever you want. Doesn’t really matter.”

Peter stared at Tony for a long moment, before finally looking away.

He didn’t know what to think of the offer. Or what to say. On the one hand, this was an opportunity he thought he would never have again in his life. He never thought he would see the Spider-Man suit again, or have anything to even do with his old persona. Spider-Man was what had gotten him into the whole mess to begin with, and he had long since buried the hatchet and moved on with his life when it came to the superhero.

He had always said that had he still had the suit when he first woke up on the streets all that time ago, that he would have burned it himself. Because he was over it. Because he didn’t want it. Because he didn’t need it. And the fact that he would never be able to have the suit again made the acceptance all the more easier.

But now, to have the opportunity to see the suit again, to hold it, to wear it, he… well, he….

… he didn’t want it.

The more Peter thought about it, the more the idea of putting on that old suit felt like placing his hand in a fire. He immediately recoiled from the idea, and he wanted nothing more to do with it.

“Thank you, Mister Stark, but I… I’m okay. I don’t… I don’t need it.” _I don’t want it. Please, not yet. I don’t want it yet._

If Tony was surprised, he didn’t show it. “All right, kid, that’s totally fine. Will you take an iron-suit, then?”

Peter thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “No. I… I’m really strong, Mister Stark. And I can stick to walls and shoot webs from my wrists. I’ll be fine.”

Tony didn’t seem half as much accepting of this answer as the first, but he didn’t argue. “Fine then, whatever you say. And hey, I’ve been meaning to ask – what’s with all this ‘Mister Stark’ stuff? I thought we knew each other. I’d think having been my padawan and all, you’d start calling me by my first name.”

Peter blinked, taken aback by the sudden switch in the conversation’s direction.

“Uh – um, I mean – I just… I just always called you Mister Stark. That’s just… that’s just what I always did.” He fell silent for a moment, as the rest of Tony’s words caught up with him, and a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time fell over him, as he realised that Tony had just made a Star Wars reference.

“And… and I was never your padawan,” he said quietly, looking away. “If I was, I definitely wouldn’t be calling you by your first name, I’d be calling you Master, instead.”

“Well hey now, then we can’t argue with semantics. If master is what you have to call me, then so be it! I won’t argue with you.”

Peter quickly realised what he had said, and he spun back round, his eyes wide. “No! No, that’s not what I meant! I was just meaning that if we _were_ in Star Wars, that that’s what I’d call you. Except – except I’m not your padawan! I’m not – _gah_ – I’m not your apprentice, I was never your apprentice, I was just some stupid kid trying to be important, and –.”

Peter stopped as he saw the grin on Tony’s face, and he quickly fell silent, his face falling in annoyance.

Tony’s own grin faded, and he turned back to the holo-map, pressing his fingers against his temples.

Peter frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, just a headache. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Peter opened his mouth, about to inquire further, but Tony deftly changed the subject.

“Well this is going to take a while,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “so why don’t we have a chat? See if I can’t jog some of my old memory. So, Pete – where are you from? Where’d you grow up? What were you doing before all… this?”

Peter swallowed back a sigh, but since he had nothing better to do, decided to acquiesce to Tony’s questions.

“I grew up in Queens. Went to Midtown High.”

Tony whistled. “Midtown High, that’s not an easy school to get into. You gotta be smart to jump through their hoops.”

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, well, I can count to ten, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And family? Mom? Dad? Grandpas, grandmas?”

“Mom and Dad died when I was eight. Pretty sure my grandparents are all dead, too. Lived with my aunt and uncle. My uncle died when I was fourteen. And my aunt… well. She’s around.”

“But she doesn’t remember who you are.”

Peter’s silence was answer enough.

Tony turned back to the holo-map, pushing his chair back on its legs. He proceeded to ask a few more questions – what missions he’d been on with the Avengers, how is aunt had handled his gallivanting around the city fighting criminals, what his old friends were like and who his favourite teachers once were. Peter did his best to answer them as quickly and vaguely as he could, because while he knew that Tony was looking for a distraction, he didn’t exactly care to remember every detail as he strolled – or ran – down memory lane.

Finally, an hour later, Bruce called.

“ _Hey, Tony,”_ he said in a halfhearted greeting, and Peter could tell that the research on his end wasn’t going great, either.

“Hey Banner,” Tony replied. “Have anything new?”

“ _I hate to say it, but no – I’ve got nothing. Pepper’s going through all her contacts to try and find Osborn, but she’s coming up empty.”_

“Hmm.”

“ _You know, Tony… I hate to say it, but we may have to draw him out. I know it’s not the ideal plan, but right now I don’t see any other option. You’ll have to just get in your suit and fly around, and… I don’t know… make a scene? Call him out?”_

Tony didn’t reply, now biting on the ends of his fingers, eyes practically boring a hole through the map, but Peter knew he wasn’t really looking at it.

“ _Tony?”_

Tony continued to not respond, and Peter knew he was trying to find any way out that he could think of. And he was right to be worried – because right now their secrecy was the only thing they had on their side; if they gave that up, they would no longer have the high ground – however small it was.

And the truth was that there was no guaranteeing that Tony going out as _Iron Man_ would do what they hoped. Osborn may not even show himself at all, they may not be able to even see him with all the snow, and they would still have no clue where he was – but he would definitely now know where they were.

And in the end, with Seftis out there too, it was just far too dangerous.

But right now, it seemed like there was no other option.

“ _Tony, we’re running out of time. We need to find Steve and the others, and we need to find them now. The longer they’re out there on their own, the more likely this Seftis-guy is going to –.”_

“Fine,” Tony said, falling forwards on his chair, the legs hitting the floor with a clunk. “I’ll go out this afternoon. The snow’s supposed to ease up then, so someone should be able to see me. We’ll just have to hope it’s Osborn.”

Peter frowned, and his heart slowly began to race.

No. No, this wasn’t right. He knew there was no other way, but it still wasn’t right. He couldn’t let Tony go out there on his own, against both the Goblin and Seftis. If they both chose to attack him, there’d be no way Peter could find them and help him. Against the Goblin he’d be able to win, sure – but Seftis?

“ _I’m sorry Tony, but this is the fastest way.”_

“Don’t worry Banner, I’ll be fine. Just not looking forward to freezing my butt off, again.”

No. No, he wouldn’t be fine. There had to be another way, there had to be another option –

“ _Make sure to pack you’re long underwear, this time.”_

Peter’s heart was now rushing in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down, even though the reality was that he had just got him back – he had just got Tony back, even though he wasn’t really here, not like he once was, but he was smiling and laughing and throwing sarcastic comments and he was _here_ , they were together, and – and –

“ _Tony, Pepper’s on the line.”_

“Miss Potts.”

“ _Tony! You can’t go out there! Just wait a little longer, I can find someone –.”_

Think. _Think_. There had to be something else, there had to be another option, there had –

“Pep, don’t worry, it’ll be fine –.”

“ _No, Tony, you have no one else –.”_

Surely there had to be something, and –

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

“I know where we should go.”

Everyone’s voices came to a halt, and Tony looked over at Peter with a raised, but wary brow.

There was silence, as Peter ran the plan through his head, before he finally continued: “Right now we just need to find Norman Osborn, right? That’s our best bet to finding the others.”

Tony looked at him curiously. “Right….”

“But we don’t want to let him know we’re still trying to find him, right?”

Tony squinted his eyes. “Right.”

“Well, if social-media and satellites can’t find him, then there’s only one thing left that can!”

Tony shook his head. “I’m not following, kid.”

Peter leaned forward. “What’s the most annoying person in the entire world for a billionaire celebrity, Mister Stark?”

Tony’s brows furrowed, as though he were actually thinking, but before he could even open his mouth, Peter answered for him.

“A tabloid journalist.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “A tabloid journalist?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Peter insisted. He grinned. “And I think I know just where to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your amazing support - as always, I would never have made it this far without you.
> 
> As always, this chapter was meant to have far more going on - two more main scenes - but typically, I wrote too much and didn't want to cut much of anything out, so here we are.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter - we are nearing the end of the line, guys! It won't be much longer now.
> 
> I would love to hear from you! Please feel free to leave a kudo or comment - your support means the world to me!
> 
> Until next time :)


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